Leviathan
by pewterlocket
Summary: After Voldemort's defeat, Severus Snape is the world's most powerful wizard. Hermione discovers that he is the only one that can help her, but will he? And what will she have to do to gain his assistance?
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is a story using prompts from _The Baroness_ who won its writing during a contest I held while posting chapters of my very first story. I will reveal those prompts once the last chapter is uploaded, since it might spoil this tale. The following narrative is canon with the books except Severus Snape survives and I've tossed out the Epilogue. As always, I get to interpret facts according to my own imagination. That's what fan fiction is all about!

Reviews are encouraged, welcomed and appreciated!

DISCLAIMER: JK Rowling owns all.

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Chapter One: A Rose by Any Other Name

* * *

Healer Pye studied the luminous diagnostic numbers that floated before him and then eyed his patient carefully.

"Not more than a year, I would think."

"Arthur Weasley was healed. How did you cure him?"

"I can't say precisely," Pye began, but then hesitated. "This is just a theory, but I think there was a connection between the support of his family and his recovery. I don't know if you ever discussed with . . . uh . . . Dumbledore . . . his theories on the magical power of love?" The look on his patient's face seemed to indicate that he hadn't put much stock in those discussions. "He did quite a bit of research on the subject, back in the day, down in the Department of Mysteries. You may want to look some of that up yourself. I'm sure the Ministry would give you access to those files. They belonged to Dumbledore which means, from what I understand, they now belong to you. I would like to see those records myself, if you're up to it one of these days."

"Sooner rather than later, I suppose?" The man's sarcasm was legendary.

"The sooner the better, obviously. Though I have no conclusive proof of what cured Mr. Weasley, I suspect there was a strong correlation between his healing and the love that his family had for him."

"That is definitely one remedy not available to me, Healer," said Severus Snape. The man's stoicism was just as fabled. "And I have precious little time with the research I already have to complete. As you know, time is running out for the other two victims of that curse."

"It is, but your efforts on that front made Horace Slughorn's final days much more bearable," replied Pye. His patient wearily pinched the bridge of his considerable nose. He stood.

"I will continue seeking a solution for them as long as I am able," he stated, then turned and swept from the room. Healer Pye watched him depart in a flourish of black robes.

* * *

Hermione Granger tightened her cloak against the late November cold and nervously walked past the apothecary for the fifth time. Although it was broad daylight, she always felt uneasy in this part of magical London. It was bad enough that the shop was located in the most dangerous part of Knockturn Alley, but even worse was the man she had to face within. The man from whom she had come to beg a favor.

There was no reason for him to grant her this request, none at all. He owed her nothing and after the life that fate had handed him, she doubted he would be in the frame of mind to even consider her petition. But she was desperate. With Dumbledore's death, Severus Snape was now the most knowledgeable and powerful wizard in the magical world. He was her last resort. She took a deep breath, screwed up her courage . . . and walked by for the sixth time.

She was beginning to attract attention. The grizzled wizard in tattered robes loitering near the alley entrance several shops down was starting to watch her a bit too closely and a pair of eyes in the second-hand clothing store across the street no longer averted when she glanced their way. Finally, deciding she would probably be safer inside the apothecary than out, she darted to the door, turned the knob and, attempting to at least feign confidence, strode into the shop.

It was empty. Feeling both relieved and disappointed simultaneously, she looked around. It was barely warmer inside. The interior was not unlike his dungeon office at Hogwarts with jars of cramped, pickled things lining the walls on shelves from ceiling to floor. The only natural light came by way of two large display windows at the front of the building, flanking the glass-paned entrance door. Weak illumination from sconces at the back barely made it to where the light from the windows had left off, leaving the place overwhelmingly dim. A huge counter, which apparently doubled as a workbench since there was a cauldron at one end releasing gentle tendrils of steam, ran nearly the entire width of the store. Between the entrance and the counter were old creaking shelves, shoulder height so the proprietor could see any customer coming in, crammed with jars, crocks and baskets of potion ingredients. She approached the counter and noted more shelves underneath and picked up one of the many jars there, the ingredients scrawled across the label in Professor Snape's cramped handwriting.

"Miss Granger," a soft voice said, almost in her ear. She squeaked, whirled around and dropped the jar. With a quick wave of his hand, Professor Snape levitated the falling container up and onto the counter.

"Here to steal from my stores again?" he said, peering at the label and then down at Hermione. "Even the same ingredient as last time. Boomslang skin."

"Y-You found out about that?" She tried not to stammer, but the conditioning she had experienced over five years of life in potions class with this man made it difficult to respond in any other way.

"It was rather obvious after you showed up in the hospital wing as a Polyjuiced cat." The smirk on the man's face indicated that he had taken great pleasure in the knowledge. "Who do you think Madam Pomfrey called when that happened?" Of course the school's potion master would have been the first person to be summoned for a Polyjuice potion gone wrong.

"You never mentioned it before."

"The memory is one that I have cherished over the last five and a half years and has produced sufficient enjoyment to negate demanding you replace a rather expensive ingredient, so we're even" he said. "Now, what is it you want?"

Hermione's courage was flagging. "This is an apothecary." Well, duh, that was obvious. Nerves were pushing words out of her mouth. "I've come for, um, Horklump juice."

"Really." He looked completely unconvinced. "You came to the most dangerous part of Knockturn Alley for Horklump juice?"

She nodded, fidgeting, not daring to look up into those eyes. What on earth possessed her to attempt to lie to a Legilimens?

"What are you brewing?" he demanded.

In a panic, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Herbicide." _Herbicide, you idiot?_ she thought. This wasn't going to work.

"Miss Granger, you live in a flat in Muggle London. Why would you need Herbicide?" he said, smoothly, his smirk a very clear indication that he knew she was lying and he was relishing the chance to toy with her.

"I . . . I want to make some for . . . for Mrs. Weasley. Yes. She's fresh out and I said I would brew her a batch right away."

"That would be for all the weeds coming up during the winter, would it?" He wasn't quite sneering, but it was close. She said nothing, taking a sudden interest in a long scratch on the worn counter. He leaned down and selected a bottle from off a shelf. "Here you go. It's on the house. Good day, Miss Granger." In a swirl of black he walked around the counter and attended to the bubbling cauldron.

Now he faced the front of the shop and the anemic light from the windows gave a bit more illumination to Professor Snape's countenance. Although there was no denying who it was, Hermione was nearly shocked at his appearance. His face was drawn and his eyes seemed almost hollowed out. He had always been a thin man, but now he was downright gaunt. With his high collar and usual cravat, she was denied a glimpse at the scars that must have been left behind after the ravaging he endured from that evil snake. While his voice was as smooth and hypnotizing as it had always been, his breathing seem more labored somehow.

She looked down at the bottle he had pressed into her hands and almost felt like crying. She was sure that would only make matters worse. It was time to come clean and venture telling him the real reason for her visit. The worst he could do was throw her out. With that decision made, and remembering her parents, a calm washed over her.

"I have been lying to you, Professor," she confessed and rubbed at the label on the bottle.

"Yes, Miss Granger, you have," he said, quite calmly. "Customers just wanting to purchase Horklump juice do not pace back and forth outside my shop for half an hour before coming in." His eyes narrowed as he studied her. "So out with it. There is no longer any need for lies between us."

"You are my last resort, Professor. I need your help." She set the bottle down on the counter, emphasizing her point. He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"With?"

"Last year, before we - Ron and Harry and I - went searching for Voldemort's Horcruxes, I modified my parents memories. I erased their memory of me, gave them new names and a life's ambition to move to Australia. All to protect them and in case something happened to me. Now I want to restore their memories and I find that . . . " she faltered, her throat growing tight, but forcing herself to push on, " . . . that I am unable to reverse the effects."

"And you want me to fix your mistake?"

He _would _ put it that way. She was dealing with Severus Snape after all.

"Yes, sir. I've tried everything and everyone else. No one can help me. Since . . ." _since you killed Dumbledore,_ she thought. No, that wouldn't be appropriate. "Since Dumbledore passed away, you are the most knowledgeable and powerful wizard left. You are the only one that would have any chance of correcting my . . . mistake."

"And what will you give me in return, Miss Granger?"

She suspected this might be required. Professor Snape had never struck her as being a particularly generous man. It was unfortunate that she had very little to offer.

"I don't have much, sir. But I've 2,000 galleons in my vault at Gringott's and they are yours if you will help me."

"I'm not interested in money," he said, his dark gaze making her nervous again.

"I need your help," she said in a soft voice, imploring. "Or I lose my parents forever."

He folded his arms, staring at her. Bringing his thumb up, he rubbed it along his lower lip. "I could use some help around this place," he said, finally.

"Well, I don't have a job just yet. I've been studying to catch up on what would have been my seventh year so I could take my N.E.W.T.s. And . . ." she paused. " . . . trying to recover my parents. I could certainly pitch in and help out." Hermione had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. He couldn't possibly think that was enough if he had rejected her galleons. She shifted her weight nervously.

"Pitch in?" He raised both eyebrows this time. "No, Miss Granger. I think this might require a bit more effort than 'pitching in,' as you say."

Was it just the light or the distance? The lines in his face seemed a bit softer and the hollows under his eyes not as dark, his breathing less labored. Odd. But then he continued.

"In fact, I think I know just the thing." He flicked his wand behind him toward the door at the back of the shop. It opened halfway and a moment later a book flew through the opening and right into his hand. He laid the ancient, fragile-looking tome on the counter. Hermione couldn't resist the allure. As he reverently, it seemed to her, thumbed through the pages, the gentle fragrance of very old parchment wafted across the intervening space and she leaned slightly forward inhaling deeply. It was almost intoxicating.

He ran his finger down a page, turned it and continued on the next. Hermione watched his face as he concentrated on his search and she could tell by his expression when he found what he was looking for; the crease between his eyes smoothed out and the smirk returned.

"Ah. This should do," he said, conjuring a scroll of parchment. He tapped the page he had found in the old book and transferred the text to the parchment as it rolled out in front of her. "I think the standard length of such a contract is . . ." he referred to the ancient tome again, " . . . yes - seven years."

"Seven _years?_"

"I think that adequate to cover your request," he said, conjuring a quill and inkpot. He set it down next to the contract. She stared at it, numb. _Seven years._ Her dreams of finishing her N.E.W.T.'s and finding a career where she could really make a difference in the wizarding world were dashed. And finding the love of her life and having a few children? All of that would have to be put on hold until she could complete this obligation. She felt her throat tighten.

But then she thought of her parents: her mother's smile and how she could understand what Hermione was feeling just with a glance at her face; her father's hugs and the way the two of them would spend hours in the library reading together. The sacrifice would be worth it. She picked up the quill.

"You may want to read the entire contract before signing, Miss Granger," he said quietly. She shook her head.

"I've no choice. I would give anything to get my parents back and you are my last resort." She scratched her signature across the bottom of the parchment and handed the quill to him. He did likewise, in his familiar, cramped hand. As soon as he did so, the parchment curled back into a scroll and disappeared, no doubt filing itself with the Ministry of Magic.

"So what are my hours?" she asked, expecting that to be as onerous as the chores he would assign her. She had no doubt that he would treat her little better than a house elf. "What time do you want me to show up in the morning?"

"In the morning? Oh no, Miss Granger, you will be living on the premises," he said slyly. "I will allow you until 5pm this evening to pack up your apartment and give notice to your landlord. Come. I will show you your quarters."

_Seven years. Of this._ She sighed and followed Professor Snape through the door at the back of the shop.

The doorway opened into a long hall and Hermione immediately suspected that rather complicated Extension charms had been used to make the building much larger. They passed several doors on either side until they came to the last one on the left. The room beyond was nothing more than a broom closet. It was barely wide enough to touch both walls without extending her arms and not even twice as deep. At the far end, on the floor, lay a tiny, tatty mattress. So. She would be treated _exactly _ like a house elf.

"Do you have any spare pillowcases?" she muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing, Professor."

"I am no longer your teacher, Miss Granger. Technically, according to our contract, you should now address me as . . . "

"Although . . ." Hermione interrupted, suspecting what he was going to say, " . . . I would have signed that contract no matter the stipulations, I think maybe I should have a look at it now."

"Certainly," he said, eyeing her, unruffled. "As soon as you carry out my first orders we will discuss the matter of your free time, which will not be substantial I assure you. You may read whatever you like when you're done with your duties for the day."

Hermione turned abruptly on her heel and headed for the door. _No way in hell am I ever going to call that man 'Master,'_ she thought furiously.

However, as she exited the shop and headed for the nearest Disappartion point, there was only one question on her mind: How did Professor Snape know where she lived?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Promises to Keep

* * *

Snape watched his former pupil, the Gryffindor Know-It-All, stride angrily from his apothecary and smirked. Seems he still had the touch, though she didn't appear quite as cowed by his antics as she had been when his student. Growing up had it's disadvantages. Though there were a few benefits as well. Miss Granger had matured in other ways besides her attitude. He told himself that he really hadn't noticed _that _ change. Really, he hadn't. Much.

He Summoned the ancient book of contracts from the shop's counter and opened the first door on the right, his library. Shelving the tome with a flick of his wand, he sat down heavily in the worn but comfortable leather chair behind his desk. Pulling out his journal, he dipped a quill into the silver ink pot that had been among the items that Dumbledore had bequeathed him and began recording his observations and associated musings.

Miss Granger's visit and subsequent appeal for his assistance had been a godsend in more ways than one. With time running out and two major projects that had to be completed before he himself exited this mortal coil, her help would be invaluable. Of all the students he had taught over his sixteen years at Hogwarts, she would have been his personal choice to take up this position. It was unfortunate that he had to force her to do so, but he didn't have the time or the skills to persuade her to such a decision. She could manage the shop, freeing up his time for research, and she could also help with that research. Her assistance might very well prove vital to both projects he needed to finish before he died. He couldn't think of anyone more suited to what he needed to accomplish than Miss Granger. On top of that, she would attract the proper _clientele _.

He had also felt the gentle influence of the strange magic that radiated from her and that, for some unknown reason, had seemed to bolster his strength. And as her exit receded in time, he felt the previous weakness return and his breath became slightly labored again. He had no idea why her presence would affect him so. Pye had suggested that the love of Arthur Weasley's family had aided in curing him of Nagini's poisoning. Miss Granger had no love for him, that was certain, but for her parents? If she was willing to spend seven years in his service in order to bring them back into her life, that indicated she had a profound love for them. Could just her presence help him feel better? And would that possibly extend his life somewhat, giving him more time to resolve the conundrums he faced before he had to die? Another reason to have her about. When she returned this evening, he would carefully observe whether he experienced the same effect that he had seemed to sense earlier.

Maybe the fates were on his side this time around? Snape heard the faint buzz from the monitoring spell he had set up, signaling a customer had arrived. He put his musings and quill away and headed down the hall to the apothecary.

* * *

"So you'll be out by the end of the month?" asked the graying woman, leaning against the door frame to the manager's apartment and who supervised the building where Hermione's flat was located. The old Muggle had been very kind to her since the day she had moved in, which had been a scant few weeks after Harry had defeated Voldemort.

"Actually, I'll be out by the end of the day, Mrs. Murphy," she replied, disliking how final that sounded in her ears.

"I'm sad to hear so, dear," Mrs. Murphy said, her face pinched in genuine mournfulness. "You've been a lovely tenant and that cat of yourn is a pretty one and devil on the mice. I fear they'll sneak back in just as soon as you leave."

_Crookshanks!_ Hermione could kick herself. She hadn't given a single thought to her faithful part-kneazle companion when she signed that distasteful contract. She muttered a quick, fervent prayer under her breath, that Professor Snape wouldn't mind if she brought the old feline with her. Then she remembered his run-in with Neville's toad Trevor. If that beastly man so much as harmed a hair on Crookshank's head, she'd have his innards for garters, contract or no.

"I think Crooks frightened them so badly that you'll be mouse-free for quite some time, ma'am," Hermione told the woman and started rifling through the spells she knew for one that might repel rodents. It would be the least she could do in repayment for Mrs. Murphy's many kindnesses.

"Come back for a visit whenever you're in the neighborhood," Mrs. Murphy called out as Hermione mounted the stairs.

"I will," she called back, wondering if the old woman would remember her in seven years; indeed, would Mrs. Murphy even be alive? _Seven years._ It was seven years ago that Hermione had entered Hogwarts for the first time. She had changed so much since then. What would she be like seven years from now? But her envisioned future was too bleak to promise much progression. It would be spent scrubbing his floors, fixing his meals and shut away in what was essentially a house elf's nest. She wondered how Harry had survived his cupboard under the stairs.

These thoughts were so oppressive she suddenly felt their weight in her physical limbs, as if she were chained hand and foot. How was she going to survive such a life? What would happen to her mind after seven years of such drudgery? Her lungs didn't seem able to take in enough air and she was getting dizzy. Pausing in the middle of the stairway, she clung desperately to the hand rail.

She would have to hang a picture of her parents in that miserable excuse for lodging that he had assigned her and simply attempt to live one grinding day at a time. Forcing herself from step to step, she reached the landing. From there she goaded her feet to the front door. Barely gaining her bed, the tears started. She missed her parents. The empty ache in her heart left her feeling hollow and shaken.

Crookshanks meowed and jumped up to the mattress to join her. He cuddled close to her heart and began purring. Wrapping her arms around the large ginger cat, she cried harder. When she had altered her parents memories, she felt certain she would be able, if she survived, to restore them after Voldemort had been defeated. So in the back of her mind, her parents were always there and the anticipation of their return had bolstered her through all the difficulties and dangers of hunting Horcruxes. Now, as each attempt failed to recover their memories, she seemed to be losing her moorings, cast adrift in a strange and hostile sea. Severus Snape was her last hope.

Severus Snape. Today had been the first time she had seen him since leaving him for dead on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. The wizarding world had been shocked to discover that he had been on their side the entire time and she had felt somewhat vindicated about defending him to Harry for all those years. It certainly didn't seem like he was on her side now. What had she expected? That the dour man would instantaneously change, turning into some kind of happy-go-lucky harlequin in black?

Crookshanks meowed again and licked at the wet streaks on her face. His rough tongue tickled. She smiled, then laughed and hugged him closer. In her new life as Severus Snape's servant, she would protect this creature with all that was in her. She let her anger overcome the despair that she had unwittingly let claim her mind. It was time to pack.

* * *

Nearly a quarter of Hermione's belongings had been miniaturized and loaded into one of three Muggle suitcases opened on her bed, but now she leaned against the casing of her one lone window, watching the London street below for any signs of Harry and Ron. They were usually a few minutes late for their weekly lunch date, but today she really didn't mind. The anticipation of seeing her best friends warred with the prospect of having to tell them about the contract she had signed with Professor Snape. They would not be happy. Especially Harry.

Although The Boy Who Lived had radically changed his opinion of Professor Snape after encountering the potion master's memories in Dumbledore's pensieve, of late he seemed to be talking himself back into hating the man all over again. Her freshly minted servitude wasn't going to help things, though at this point she was seriously considering adopting Harry's point of view herself.

She spied them on the corner by the alley to which they usually Apparated when coming to visit her and relaxed a bit when she saw that neither of them had a large bag that would indicate they had brought takeout to consume in her apartment. All the better, since her two friends were less likely to make a scene if they were in a restaurant. Due to their notoriety as the Trio That Defeated Voldemort, they always went Muggle when choosing where to eat. Although she and Harry had substantially more experience than Ron at it, the youngest Weasley boy had taken to Muggle restaurants like ashwinders to a magical fire. Most likely that was because food was involved. She smiled at that thought, grabbed a Muggle sweater, excellent camouflage for the outing, and hurried down to meet them.

* * *

Snape decanted the luminescent golden potion into a goblet and leaned across the Minister of Magic's desk, offering the libation to the man who sat behind it. Kingsley Shacklebolt accepted and downed the contents in one go.

"You can't make it taste any better?"

"A perennial complaint. No." Snape watched the Minister's countenance as he silently numbered the time in his head. The wearied expression in Shacklebolt's eyes began to lift as Snape's count reached twenty, five more seconds than last week. Damn.

"And your shoulder?" Snape asked, trying to divert Shacklebolt from his usual question. The Minister reached up and ran his hand from collarbone to bicep.

"No change that I can tell," he replied, "A good sign, isn't it?"

"Should be," Snape said cautiously. "Let me take a look." The Minister nodded and, with his wand, widened the neck of his robes, pulling them down to expose the area to which Snape had managed to confine the curse. The potions master rounded the desk to ascertain the current condition of the wound. Indeed, it had not changed. The charred-looking skin had not crept beyond the boundaries he had marked last week; very good news. Perhaps the extra drop of Lethe Water had helped in that respect.

"Yes. Well. Not to encourage your fantasies, but watch for signs of improvement in the week ahead. The adjustment I made this time might give you a bit more mobility in that joint."

Shacklebolt nodded and resized his robes to cover the injury. "I'm grateful for what you've done so far." He looked up at Snape, hope filling his eyes. "Prognosis?"

"Same as last week - I'm not sure," Snape hated having to guess. "Dumbledore's curse was much more deadly since the spell had been placed on the ring numerous times and they all went off at once."

"But Slughorn . . . " began Shacklebolt.

"Horace took the brunt of the spell full in the chest. You received the tail end of it across your shoulder. And he was older and your health is much better than his ever was. I expect, as I've said before, that you have at least three years and that should be enough to either find a cure or fine-tune this potion to stave off the effects indefinitely." Snape didn't bother mentioning that Shacklebolt successfully surviving the curse also depended on how long he himself would live, but adding more stress to the situation would not help the man in any manner whatsoever.

And, as always, Shacklebolt nodded. Then he indicated the armchair across from him. "And about our other project? More good news, I hope?"

Tired, Snape sat down and stretched out his aching legs. "I believe so. Miss Granger will be moving into my shop this evening."

"How on earth did you manage that, Severus?" Shacklebolt's enormous grin generously reflected the pleasure in his voice.

"I took advantage, as is my wont," Snape replied. At the Minister's confused frown, he added, "The girl needs a favor and I essentially parleyed that into an indenture which requires her to be on the premises full-time."

"And the other two?"

"It would be suspicious if I moved all three of them into my shop, don't you think?" Snape said, though he suspected Potter and Weasley would now be frequenting his establishment with annoying regularity. "Your Aurors will have to continue to oversee their safety."

"Having at least one of them under your protection will help me sleep better at night," Shacklebolt said and leaned back in his chair, relaxing. "Her presence won't put off the people we want to attract?"

"On the contrary, I believe it will enhance the possibility; once they hear that she is, in effect, magically enslaved to me," Snape said, and then saw that abrupt bit of doubt flash in Shacklebolt's eyes. Always the suspicion, thought Snape wearily, though he knew this was a good sign. Delicately balancing on that fine line between trust and distrust is what had made him such a superb spy against the Dark Lord. And it's what would make his current operation successful. But he needed to get back to the apothecary. He could count on a lull in business just after the lunch rush, but customers usually began trickling back in about now. And he had a few tasks to complete before Miss Granger's arrival. He stood.

"Until next week then, Minister?"

When the man nodded, Snape headed to the large fireplace on the far wall and reached for a generous portion of Floo powder.

* * *

"You did _what?_"

It was almost a chorus; a Ron and Harry duet, at least.

"Please tell me that I just misheard you, Hermione," Harry said quietly, concern and worry in his eyes.

"I'm at the end of my rope, Harry. He is the last chance I have left. What would you suggest I had done?" She was glad now that they were at one of their favorite eateries; she was sure the Muggles at neighboring tables were dampening her friend's response.

Harry was, as ever, Harry. She was so grateful that she had this constant in her life. Although he had turned eighteen only 4 months ago, his features had been changing quickly. His jaw was squaring off and his beard was getting thicker; with his black hair, his five o'clock shadow was now perceptible closer to four. Always a skinny kid while at Hogwarts, he was muscling up very quickly. But his eyes - those green eyes - they would always be the same. She expected it would take years, possibly decades, before their habit of wariness would erode sufficiently so that it wasn't always foremost in his gaze. Of course, his choice to become an Auror might make that an impossibility.

"Besides, he's proven his loyalty to our side, hasn't he?" Hermione added. "You know that better than anyone." But Harry's face clouded and he frowned. She pushed a few bits of rice through what was left of the curry on her plate and then looked up at him again. His worry always seemed a contagion to her and many times she had to push her intellect strenuously up against that possible infection in order not to succumb to what she mostly considered debilitating emotion. She felt particularly vulnerable at the moment.

"I'm not so sure anymore, Hermione," he lowered his voice and both she and Ron leaned in closer to hear. "There have been rumors running rampant in the Auror department," he paused for a deep breath. "Snape has been seen in the company of those believed to have been in league with Voldemort."

"But he would have known those people from before you defeated Voldemort. Could he just be visiting with friends or acquaintances?" Ron suggested.

Hermione looked over at her other best friend. After Fred's death, he had abandoned his plans to accompany Harry in Auror training and had joined George at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. He was a tremendous support to the business and to his bereaved family. Although she had crushed on Ron off and on over the years, that kiss outside of the Room of Requirement had clenched it for her. It was like kissing her brother, if she had had one. Turned out that he had felt exactly the same way. They had settled back into their very comfortable friendship.

"He doesn't seem inclined to turn these 'friends' over to the Ministry. In fact, it's just the opposite. Word is he is protecting them," Harry replied. "And I have been wondering about the memories he gave me in the Shrieking Shack. It was easy to tell that Slughorn had altered his memories, but Slughorn was not an accomplished Legilimens or Occlumens. Snape was both. Would those talents allow him to manipulate the memories that he gave me? Or completely make them up? I don't know."

"But he gave us the Sword of . . ." a waitress passed close by their table and Hermione paused until she was gone. ". . . the Sword of Gryffindor. Why would he do that if he weren't on our side?" Hermione asked.

"What if he wanted to take Voldemort's place? Then he would assist us in destroying Voldemort and pick up the pieces afterward. That would perfectly explain his present behavior."

"Snape wants to be the next Dark Lord?" Ron sounded as incredulous as Hermione felt. She thought that Harry's suspicions about Professor Snape had been quelled after finding out what he had done for the war effort, but this current scenario? Could Harry's new take on the potion master's behavior be legitimate? And if there were any possibility his new theory was true she had just stepped in it big time.

"What if he does?" Harry continued. "I'm not sure that you should have signed that contract, Hermione, but it might actually work in our favor. You can keep tabs on him for us."

"Harry, that is just ludicrous! He's a very good Legilimens and I'm a very bad liar." She thought back to the fiasco in the apothecary that very morning with some degree of embarrassment.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Snape is an uncommonly clever wizard. I suspect that he has already protected himself in some way from surveillance." She could almost see the gears meshing together as he thought aloud.

"He's logical," Hermione said, remembering the puzzle he concocted during their first year to protect the Philosopher's Stone. "That gives him an edge over most other wizards."

"Was there anything in the contract preventing you from divulging information about him or his operations?" Ron piped up. Hermione felt her face flush.

"I - I didn't read, uh, the whole thing," she finished by trying to soften the humiliation that was sure to eat up her insides when they realized what she had so thoughtlessly done. "I would have signed anything to get my parents back," she added with almost a whisper.

"Tell me something that he said after you signed the contract," Harry said after a thoughtful moment. That was easy. Professor Snape had consigned her to a broom closet.

"The r-room h-he gave m-me is . . . is . . ." she couldn't do it. The words dissipated before they got past her teeth and her tongue felt hobbled. She stared in horror at Harry.

"He's an opportunist of the highest order, Hermione," Harry said. "He can tweak any situation to his benefit."

_What had she gotten herself into?_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Inmate

* * *

Apparating with three heavily loaded suitcases and Crookshank's carrier was not as difficult as she thought it might be. None of it, resized, would be able to fit into that rat hole, her assigned quarters, so she suspected it would be seven years before she would see much of her belongings again. Not having her treasured books around her would be the hardest deprivation to endure, but she would sneak a few out as often as she could, although Professor Snape's comment led her to believe that opportunity would be limited. Flicking her wand at her luggage she levitated it behind, exited the alley and made her way toward the apothecary. The populace of Knockturn Alley appeared to have increased in number, as well as menace, and since the sun had set and the weak autumn light was quickly draining from the sky, she picked up her pace.

Packing had taken her less time than she had anticipated and now she stood on the walk in front of the shop much as she had that morning, nervous and desperate. She had decided to come early, hoping to get on his good side if she could. That strategy had failed miserably when he was her teacher, but despite the severe strictures of the contract, he had actually behaved rather decently in their previous meeting. She took a deep breath and opened the shop door.

The ambience was nearly indistinguishable from that during full daylight which led Hermione to suspect that Professor Snape had laid an enchanted gloom upon the place. Perhaps he just felt more at ease in a dungeon-like environment. She wondered why that might be.

Low voices at the back of the shop drew her attention to the counter, and she wound her way amongst the shelves, her luggage still obediently floating behind. Professor Snape looked up, caught her eye and smirked. He bent to make a note on a sheaf of papers on the counter but raised his voice loud enough for her to hear.

"I have an . . . ah . . . assistant now. I'll be able to attend to your order immediately." Professor Snape nodded in her direction.

"An assistant?" the unknown man at the counter repeated. The customer glanced over his shoulder in the direction of Professor Snape's nod, saw Hermione and the color drained from his face. The customer looked familiar in a disquieting way, but she couldn't quite place where she had seen him before.

"Bloody hell, Snape," the man exclaimed and yanked the sleeve of his robes down over his exposed left arm. Hermione just caught a glimpse of the faded Dark Mark that was burned into the skin there. "One of _them?_ Are you sodding kidding me?"

Professor Snape's lips twisted into a sneer. "Calm down, Jugson. She's magically inhibited from relating a word about anything she hears us say. And what better way to assure the Ministry where my loyalties lay than by taking this one . . . under my wing . . . so to speak?"

At the mention of the man's name, a uneasy sense of deja vu washed through her mind. Unsure of what was going on right in front of her, Harry's theory about Severus Snape rushed to the fore. The customer had obviously been one of Voldemort's Death Eaters, so Harry was right about one thing: Professor Snape was fraternizing with his former cronies. But was he right about believing Professor Snape wanted to replace the Dark Lord?

"So you will need the Portkey and the potion, both of which I can provide," Professor Snape said and Jugson shifted uneasily, finally tearing his eyes away from Hermione and turning back to the business at hand. "Everything will be available by your projected departure date, about 30 days hence. Will you have payment ready by then?"

"The information you wanted?" asked Jugson. "That's all you're requiring of me? Doesn't seem quite a fair trade. Aren't you coming out on the short end of the deal?" he added suspiciously, with another glance at Hermione.

"Information is power," Professor Snape said simply. "Of course, it has to be accurate. If I find out that it is not . . . ," the glare in his eye could only be described as lethal, "Well, I'm the one person who will know how to find you." His threat was delivered softly, his voice low.

"I'll be back in 30 days, then," Jugson said, nodded and turned to go. He headed straight for Hermione. She froze and the memories came flooding back as she saw his face full on. Jugson was one of Lucius Malfoy's cronies in the Department of Mysteries the night Voldemort had lured Harry to the Ministry to retrieve the prophecy; the night that Sirius had died. The man was a thug and she remembered seeing him at the Battle of Hogwarts as well. Why wasn't he incarcerated in Azkaban? Swallowing hard, she stood her ground. She wanted to draw her wand, but if Harry was right - and from what she had just heard Professor Snape say, that was a definite possibility - it might be two against one. What the hell was going on?

"Jugson," Professor Snape said and the man looked back at him. "You forgot your . . . ah . . . purchase." He tossed a jar of dried nettles, a common, inexpensive potion ingredient and Jugson deftly caught it. "Have to keep up appearances," he added. "And don't forget your glamour."

Jugson brushed past Hermione, bumping into her levitated luggage and causing each of the bags to shudder in midair. Pulling his wand, he cast the glamour on himself and with one last surreptitious glance at Hermione, left the shop. Turning toward Professor Snape she saw him push his wand back up his sleeve and realized that she had not noticed when he had pulled it out.

"Miss Granger, do you need some assistance with your bags?" Snape asked, preempting a question, several actually, of her own. He didn't wait for her answer. "Winky!"

To Hermione's amazement, the house elf Apparated at Professor Snape's side. She was wearing a tidy and very pink, nay florescent, towel and she curtsied deeply.

"Yes, Master Snape. What orders do you have for Winky?" the elf asked eagerly. The last time Hermione had seen this particular elf, she was a drunken, filthy heap on the Hogwarts kitchen hearth. Now she was clean, alert and looked very, very . . . happy. Wait a minute.

"Why have you contracted me to be your servant, _Professor_ . . . " she emphasized the title, " . . . Snape, if you already have the services of a house elf?"

"There are certain tasks that Winky is not capable of," Professor Snape answered, "and on which I will elucidate further once you are settled in." As Hermione continued to stare at Winky, he added, "It was Minerva's idea. The elf was not doing well at Hogwarts, particularly after Dobby was killed."

"The hot pink certainly coordinates well with the decor," Hermione snipped.

"Pink is Winky's best, Miss," the elf piped up. A stealthy glance at the shop's proprietor caught a slight rolling of his eyes. Well, this was intriguing. Obviously Professor Snape did not like the color but he had let the elf choose her favorite. What did that bode for Hermione herself?

"Winky, please help Miss Granger to her quarters," he said and turned back to the papers on the counter. Winky glowed.

"Yes sir, Master Snape," the elf replied enthusiastically. Winky snapped her fingers and the bobbing suitcases disappeared. The elf gently took Hermione by the hand and led her past the counter and through the door to the hall. They passed all the other doors and made their way to the last one on the left.

"This used to be Winky's nest, but it was too big. Master gave Winky a much nicer one in the kitchen."

"I'm sure he did," Hermione murmured sullenly, now convinced that he had wanted the broom closet for his know-it-all student.

"Master worked most of the afternoon fixing the nest for Miss," the elf added as she reached for the handle. The door swung open and Winky led her across the threshold. Hermione gaped at the room beyond, gob-smacked.

The broom closet was gone. Professor Snape must have used numerous Extensible Charms on the tiny space because this room was now three times the size of her entire former apartment, at minimum. On the very far wall a huge fire place was centered in front of a large, square coffee table with overstuffed couches on the other three sides. Under the furniture, a thick area rug promised to protect bare feet from the cold stone beneath.

Midway into the room an enormous bed was against the left wall. It, too, was placed on a thick rug and was complimented with luxuriant bedding: thick comforters and a mass of pillows topped off with silken canopy and bed curtains. Bright simulated windows, looking onto a sunny, bucolic meadow, flanked the bed on either side above matching night stands. Winky had Apparated her bags to the floor at the foot of the bed. The wall opposite sported four ample wardrobes, three of which she was certain she would not need.

Between the bed and the door where she stood, stunned, the walls were lined, floor to ceiling, with empty bookshelves, save for one interval that another door occupied. Every one of her books would fit and she would have room for more.

All of the appointments were done in dark mahoganies where such were wood, and in deep amethysts and sapphires where they were fabric and textiles. This wasn't going to be as dismal an existence as she had been expecting.

"Is Miss pleased?" Winky asked, a doubtful expression on the elf's face. Certainly she thought the size of the room unconducive to a comfortable habitation.

"Yes, Winky, I am very pleased. This is magnificent."

The elf tugged on her hand and led her over to the door surrounded by bookcases, which she opened and ushered Hermione through. It was a bathroom. And if the bedroom was magnificent, the bath was downright opulent. It was almost as big as the prefect's bathroom at Hogwarts, though the tub was of more modest dimensions. Nearly everything was clad in a warm, golden travertine, except for the ornate mirror hung on the wall over the dark mahogany credenza that supported a plumbed wash basin.

The sumptuousness of her new quarters made her almost as giddy as she was confused. Professor Snape had done all this for _her_? Not only was he a powerful and intelligent wizard, it seems he had a knack for interior design as well. The juxtaposition of those two characteristics clashed in her mind.

After taking in the elegant bathroom, she headed back into the main quarters and began unpacking. Crookshanks would want out of his carrier as soon as possible. Lifting the cage onto her beautiful new bed, she began fiddling with the latch. She felt a tug on her robes.

"Yes, Winky?"

"Can Winky help Miss?" the elf asked, pleading in her eyes.

"Are you familiar with what cats eat, Winky?" she queried. Winky nodded. "Then would you please bring a meal for Crookshanks?" The elf answered by Disapparating immediately. Hermione pulled her old pal out onto the bed and let the half-kneazle stretch his legs. Crooks did more than that, however, inspecting every inch of his new sleeping accommodations as Hermione stowed the carrier in one of the wardrobes.

A sharp crack heralded Winky's return and the platter she was carrying almost made Hermione laugh. It certainly looked like the finely chopped meat that Crookshanks would relish, but the quantity was outsized for his mass. The elf had prepared enough to fill a full-grown tiger!

"Thank you, Winky, but he will only need about 4 ounces of that," Hermione said and pulled Crooks' bowls from her charmed beaded handbag. She eyeballed that amount from the whole and scooped the cat's evening meal into one bowl and showed it to the elf. "If you can make sure he has this much each morning and evening - the bowl will be in the bathroom - then I will be most appreciative." At the expected look of dejection on Winky's face, Hermione added, "And I will inform Master Snape how pleased I am with your assistance." That did the trick. The elf jubilantly vanished the platter and took the bowl from Hermione, heading for the bathroom. Crookshanks followed with alacrity.

Hermione opened one suitcase and retrieved the magical litter box that Harry had gifted her for her last birthday. It was enchanted with self-cleaning spells, was spill proof and could be charmed for different fragrances. Bringing that and the water bowl, she followed elf and kneazle into the bathroom. Everything was set up in one corner, _Aquamenti_ performed on the water bowl, and then Winky smiled up at her and Disapparated while Crooks tucked into dinner. Now on to unpacking.

She would worry about the books later, for now just sorting out her clothing and other belongings was a fairly straightforward and simple task, one flick of her wand to resize them and another to assign them proper places. She still was overawed at the space Professor Snape had created. Nothing in their earlier conversation had indicated that he was inclined to do this for her. Her relief at this beautiful . . . gift . . . heartened her. Maybe this commitment wouldn't be as bad as she had anticipated and the next seven years could pass quickly.

Donning a set of no-nonsense burgundy robes, she left her quarters half an hour later to present herself to Professor Snape and find out what her duties would be. Her curiosity about what he wanted her to do grew as she had unpacked. If he already had Winky, she certainly would not be doing the cleaning and cooking. Speculation would only set her nerves on end. The sooner she found out the better.

She returned to the shop and found him still at the counter leafing through his sheaf of papers and making notes. He heard her enter and turned. Looking her up and down once, she saw him set his jaw, as if he were clenching his teeth or perhaps biting his tongue. Her robes weren't Gryffindor red, they were an elegant, dark burgundy - so what was the problem?

"Unacceptable," he said flatly and flicked his wand at her attire. Her robes turned as black as his. He pointed his wand at the door to the hall and cast another spell that Hermione could only guess at. Flicking his wand at her once again, her hair shifted about her head and formed into a loose chignon at the nape of her neck.

"Wow! Can you teach me that spell?" she remarked. Professor Snape's jaw tightened again.

"We will discuss your habit of maintaining a constant stream of questions in a moment," he replied. "Right now I will explain your duties pertaining to the apothecary. Pay close attention. Our shop is open from seven o'clock in the moaning until seven o'clock in the evening Monday through Saturday. We have two rather busy periods a day, on weekdays, one from noon to one, when people are on their lunch break and the other - in about twenty minutes - when they get off work. The rest of the evening is usually busier than most of the day. Saturdays are rather unpredictable but generally see more traffic than weekdays." He walked past her to the end of the counter and pulled out a set of scales and two ledger books from beneath it.

"When a customer is ready to make a purchase, they will bring the ingredients to the counter. If you say 'Order' and then the customer's name, it will automatically be transferred to this first ledger," he said, holding up the book with a green binding.

"Measure out the item and when the scale settles, the weight will appear in luminous blue numbers above it. When that happens read the ingredient name from the label out loud. The scales are charmed to record the weight of the potion ingredient being sold in the green ledger, and calculate the amount the customer owes using information in this ledger." He held up the second ledger bound in blue. "The price will then be recorded in the green ledger under the customer's order. The process will repeat for multiple items until you say 'Total' and then the customer's name again," he hesitated. "Any questions about orders?"

"What if they decide they don't want something?"

"Ah. Say 'Cancel Item' or 'Cancel Order' and the customer's name," he replied and watched her. She nodded without saying anything as he was obviously adverse to her questions. Wonder where he developed _that_ peeve?

"The blue ledger keeps inventory in the shop proper and updates a ledger in the stockroom, which I will show you." He opened the book and ran his finger across the page. "Prices are listed in this column and, if changed, will pass the price on to new orders. If a quantity on the shop floor reaches a critical point, the item will show up in red. You will be expected to replenish the stock during the day as needed," he said. When she took a breath to ask a question, he interrupted.

"Winky is not allowed in the shop when customers are here," he said. _Probably because of the pink towel_, she thought. "You can request her assistance with any of your assignments that you choose, but you are responsible for the results." He turned toward the door at the back of the shop, his robes sweeping about him as he did so. She followed him down the hallway and through the first door on the left. As they entered, the sconces lit up on their own. The room was nearly as large as the shop itself and looked similar: row upon row of potion ingredient-laden shelves with the only difference being the larger sizes of the containers and that the shelves reached to the ceiling. He pulled another ledger, brown binding, from the closest shelf.

"This one tracks inventory for all ingredients on the premises and works similarly to the shop inventory ledger. When an item turns red in this book, it means we have to reorder from the supplier of that ingredient, also listed in the book. If there is no supplier given, that means it needs to be harvested from the garden out back or collected in the wild," he said, indicating for her to exit and they moved across the hall to the first door on the right.

It was his potions lab and it was amazing. Three walls were shelved with the jars, baskets and crocks holding the ingredients used for potioncraft. The shelves on the opposite wall held equipment; cauldrons in many sizes and materials; scales; a large assortment of stirring rods and dozens of phials in sparkling glass and crystal. A huge workbench occupied the center of the room and currently was cleared of any projects.

"Your first assignment is to brew Polyjuice Potion for our recent customer. As you heard, Jugson will need it in 30 days. You may begin tonight after dinner. You know my lab procedures. I expect the same adherence to those procedures here as I did at Hogwarts. You won't have to steal the ingredients this time." He swept his hand toward one wall. "They are over there."

Hermione looked up at Professor Snape, flabbergasted. "You want me to brew for you? I thought . . . I thought . . . " the words caught in her throat. This was unbelievable. He stared back at her.

"That was my intention when I had you sign that contract, Miss Granger." He stepped out of the lab, back into the hall, and she followed tentatively, scarcely allowing herself to hope. They moved to the next door on the right. It was his library and the room was at least as large as her quarters. At the front were two substantial desks, one on the right and one on the left, facing each other with an aisle between. Every inch of wall space was clad in bookshelves, fully loaded. Past the desks the rest of the room was simply aisle after aisle of more shelves, similarly occupied.

"This is my desk," he indicated the one on the left, "and this one is yours." She caught her breath. A desk? Was he expecting her to . . .

"Your schedule is as follows: breakfast is at 6am every morning and the shop opens at . . . ?" He looked down at her, questioning.

"At 7am, Professor."

"The front door is charmed to chime an alarm back here and alert us to entering customers. Lunch is at 11am and, as I mentioned previously, there are usually two rushes one at noon and one at 5pm. Between 7am and 7pm you will either be assisting customers up front or will be back here working on tasks that I have assigned you. That list is a long one, Miss Granger, and I will not tolerate laziness."

"No sir," Hermione assured him. She felt as if she was going to jump out of her skin, she was so excited - she would be brewing potions!

"In addition, you will also have research assignments to complete," he continued. Hermione was getting lightheaded. He wanted her to do research for him as well! This was an amazing turn of events. "Your first assignment in that category is to find out whatever you can about Fiendfyre." She nodded mutely, doing her best not to gape in astonishment. "You have free run of my library," he gestured toward the bookshelves, "but none of them may leave the premises. Additionally, we have permission from Headmistress McGonagall to use the Hogwarts library on Sundays." Again she could only nod, fearing that if she uttered even one word she would lose her composure completely.

"Further, you will compile a detailed study schedule that will prepare you to take your N.E.W.T.'s by this coming June, when Hogwarts will be holding the examinations."

"M-my N.E.W.T.s?" she stammered, nearly breathless.

"Yes, Miss Granger, your N.E.W.T.'s. I intend to make this shop the best apothecary in the wizarding world. My assistant cannot be a half-educated, Gryffindor drop-out," he said flatly. "You will submit this schedule to me and you will follow it religiously, devoting every spare minute to it's completion, is that clear?"

Clear? _Clear?_ Clearly, she must be dreaming. Only a few hours ago she was in the depths of despair, certain her education was seven years in the future as she would be consigned to a lengthy regimen of pure drudgery. Silently, she nodded again.

"I will also help you with any practical exercises you will need for Defense Against the Dark Arts or Potions and I will persuade Professors Flitwick and McGonagall to help you with your other subjects if I cannot."

Now she felt moisture accumulating at the corners of her eyes and lifted a shaking hand to her mouth to stifle the sob she felt easing its way up her throat. Not only would she have the chance to study for and take her N.E.W.T.s, the best potions master and DADA teacher Hogwarts ever had would be her own private tutor.

An overwhelming urge to hug Professor Snape took hold of her. She looked up at him. Apparently he saw somewhat of the same thing in her eyes and warily took a step back toward the door.

"Questions about the shop, you may ask at any time. All others you will hold until dinner when you will be free to pose them until such time as it interferes with my digestion," he said brusquely, turning on his heel and entering the hallway once again. When she joined him, walking down the hall, he continued.

"We have tea at 4pm, barring customers to wait on and dinner is at 7pm as soon as the shop closes. The rest of the evening is spent in study," he said and then pointed to a door, next to the library entry and across the hall from her quarters. "This leads to my chambers, obviously off limits to you." Just then a soft chime echoed down the hall and he quickly summed up the remainder of the tour. "This door," he pointed to the one at the end of the hall, "leads to the kitchen, where we take meals, and beyond is the greenhouse which I will have to show you later."

She stood looking up at him, her eyes gleaming, and not able to take all of this in. His eyes narrowed in return.

"Miss Granger - you have a customer to attend to," he growled. "Do not test my patience in your very first hour on the job."

The giddy grin was still on her face as she backed down the hall a few steps. "Thank you, Professor Snape! Thank you so much!" As she turned to rush into the shop, she heard him mutter.

"Silly girl!" And then his footsteps sounded behind her as he followed. No doubt to assure himself of her competence managing the apothecary.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Leviathan

* * *

_The cold wind whipped the hair about her face. A strong gust was laden with the scent and salty taste of sea spray and she realized the roar in her ears came from the waves crashing against the rocks below. She was standing on the edge of a cliff, trying to keep her footing in the face of a turbulent gale. Dark clouds, heavy with pent rain, blotted out the sun, turning the water a foaming, steely grey. _

_Over the booming thunder of the waves, Hermione suddenly heard a drawn out groaning. The clouds loosed their burden and now rain joined wind, lashing at her face. Squinting against the onslaught, she tried to see from whence the mournful sound emanated. After a moment, and a fortunate lull in the storm, she spotted an enormous scaled coil breaching the surface of the sea below. As it rolled out and then back into the water, she could see it was part of a much larger creature and it was heading for the base of the cliff upon which she stood. The groaning increased as the behemoth approached. When it hauled itself onto the narrow beach betwixt sea and scarp, its full mass was revealed. Initially Hermione thought herself safe, up on her precipice, but as the titanic black serpent uncoiled she grew nervously unsure. Yet, she found she could not tear her eyes from the sight, nor back away from the cliff's edge. The huge head looked up at her and she was mesmerized by its black, black gaze. It opened its mouth . . ._

Hermione jerked awake and bolt upright, gasping for breath. Panic coursed through her limbs and pounded in her ears. Combining with the trauma of the nightmare, she couldn't immediately place where she was, adding to her confusion. Why was there a canopy above her? And the silvery moonlight pooling on either side of her bed where the windowless dark of her apartment should have been made her surroundings seem disjointed.

But then the memory of the previous day streamed back into her mind and she relaxed as the new room was remembered. She stretched out in her luxurious bed, yawned and then smiled. Pulling her wand out from under a pillow, she flicked a clock spell into the air above her. Luminous red numbers appeared: 4:30 am. She usually didn't wake up quite _that_ early, and with yesterday's excitement, and hard work, she wasn't expecting to feel so refreshed. Breakfast was at 6 am and Professor Snape hadn't said anything about working before that time, so she could nestle back into the sensuous pile of pillows and snooze for another hour or get up and start her day.

The revelations yesterday had delivered amazed her still. She could hardly believe her good fortune. As she numbered, for the umpteenth time, each dazzling opportunity that Professor Snape had bestowed upon her: brewing potions, researching for him, studying and practicing for her N.E.W.T.'s and the ultimate advantage - his help to restore her parents' memories - her excitement grew. She couldn't just lay around with all of that to occupy her time.

She slipped from the sumptuous bedding and padded quickly to her own private bathroom. The fire in the hearth had petered out during the night and the November temperatures had quickly reestablished themselves, especially as regarding the hard floor underfoot. A hot shower would just hit the spot.

Stepping into the steaming water, her body tingled as the warmth seeped into her skin. This was glorious! The cold from the stone floor and the unusual dream quickly dissipated. She decanted the appropriate amount of shampoo, massaged it into her scalp and reviewed the previous evening.

Her first shift in the apothecary seemed to have gone well. The system that Professor Snape had set up was simple, intuitive and efficient. As far as she could tell, she had messed up once - by mistaking one customer for another. It was easily enough corrected and earned her only one raised eyebrow from the proprietor. Even if he had been as harsh was his habit, nothing could have pulled her off the cloud she was floating on.

Rinsing her hair, she reached for the conditioner. Dinner had been pleasant enough, although a bit quick. Professor Snape had given her free rein to ask questions but in an attempt to start out on the right foot, she had restricted her queries to shop business. He had answered tersely, though without rancor, and had seemed to wolf down his food. She suspected that would give him indigestion sooner than her questions would, but if that were his preference . . .

She soaped down her body and scrubbed her skin thoroughly. Stepping under the showerhead she rinsed out the conditioner and rinsed off the lathered skin all at once. After dinner she had made a beeline for the lab and had started a batch of Polyjuice Potion. Professor Snape had a copy of _Moste Potente Potions_ and the second time round had been infinitely easier than that first batch she had made in Myrtle's bathroom years ago. She had learned much in the intervening years, thanks once again to Professor Snape. The potion was now busily aging and would not need to be disturbed until 30 days hence when she would add the boomslang skin and lacewing flies.

The remainder of the evening, until about 11pm, had been passed very pleasantly in the library. He had been at his desk when she had entered after cleaning up the lab and hadn't even looked up. She was eager to begin the other two assignments he had given her: draw up a N.E.W.T. study schedule and research Fiendfyre. She had also started a list of questions to ask Professor Snape during dinner. She was surprised at how agreeably the time had slipped by. He knew how to study properly and how to focus for long periods of time. None of her classmates had ever been able to concentrate for more than 15 minutes without getting distracted and, as a consequence, distracting her. It was very satisfying to have another human nearby but as focused on what they were doing as she was.

She stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel and immediately wished she had lit the bathroom fireplace beforehand, though it probably wouldn't have helped much since it took so long for a simple fire to warm a space up. That was usually the duty of a house elf, tending household fires through the night. She hated having Winky do that for her, but the gooseflesh erupting all over her body was very persuasive and she was tempted to ask the elf anyway. That temptation waned as soon as she got some clothes on.

When she went to her wardrobe to don the robe that Professor Snape had charmed black, she found that it was not there but that her original burgundy robe was. Curious. Putting it on, she then remembered the unknown spell that he had directed at the door to the hallway. Quietly slipping out of her quarters, she tiptoed down the hall, pushed the door open and stepped into the shop proper. Lighting the tip of her wand she looked down at the robe. It was black. A step backwards and it was burgundy again. Now why would he do that? He gave her, and Winky, as many choices as he could. This was a side of Severus Snape that she never knew existed. And probably no one else did either. What was the man really like? The pressures of the war against Voldemort and his part as spy must have been overwhelming. What did that do to one's personality? She suspected she would find out soon enough.

Most of the time in the library last night had been devoted to compiling her study schedule. She had a few more tweaks to make, which she wanted to do this morning before breakfast, and then she could turn it in to Professor Snape. And the one question she was dying to ask him at dinner tonight; why research Fiendfyre? She hoped she could hold her tongue until then.

She doused her wand, walked the short distance down the hall and opened the door to the library.

* * *

It was tangible this time, when the girl had returned yesterday evening. He had felt the subtle magic flowing from her as soon as she entered the shop. His breathing had immediately eased and the aching of his muscles and joints had lessened degree by degree as she remained in his presence. Even the light had hurt his eyes less. Further, the effect seemed to intensify the closer she was to him. He was baffled as to precisely why that would be the case. Surely other people around him loved? Loved their spouses, loved their children? As much as Miss Granger did her parents? Why was it that only Hermione Granger's presence effected a remission of his ailments?

He was up early as was his habit, spending the quiet at the beginning of his day in the dark library pondering the tasks he had assigned himself to complete. For Snape, early morning contemplation had always produced the best and most cogent ideas, which reinforced the habit. He had his journal out and perused the pages already filled. The parchment gave off a faint glow, a charm he had invented so he wouldn't have to light a sconce, his sensitivity to light being worse in the mornings. He had notes on remediating Voldemort's last curse and notes detailing contacts with his former Death Eater brethren, but he had never pondered his own problem in any detail.

Now, he flipped past the pages filled with cramped, spiky writing to one that was blank. His quill scratched down those observations. Leaning back in his chair he let his mind ruminate on possible connections. It was strictly an intellectual exercise. He felt completely disassociated from his own predicament.

He sensed her magic affecting him - most likely inversely proportional to the distance between them, he wrote that down too - when he didn't feel it from anyone else. It was not due to any love that she had for him; that would be absurd in the extreme and he could easily cross that possibility off his list. Perhaps it was because entering into that contract constituted a sacrificial love on her part? Or perhaps it was a combination of her sacrifice and the fact that she herself was a powerful witch in comparison to those around him. Or maybe she was just more emotional and her magic radiated out in conjunction with her feelings? That didn't seem to hold up. He had never seen her display overt emotion even under the most trying circumstances. Except that one time outside his class when he delivered the most cutting remark he could think of at that moment - about her teeth.

It was easy enough to engage in churlish behavior. It was nearly a requirement among Voldemort's followers. Simply magnify tiny faults, deliver them wrapped in scathing sarcasm and then collect the reactions. His intelligence had made the pastime one of his favored indulgences and his tongue and sharp wit had been unparalleled among his brethren. In the back of his mind he knew it was rather unfair to turn that talent on his students, but he often allowed his irritations at their thoughtless actions to get the better of him.

Most Gryffindors were highly susceptible to such proddings, which made it all the more rewarding for him and so difficult to extinguish that behavior. And it averted his boredom in the classroom. But Hermione Granger was an exception and always had been. He had found it difficult to find any true fault in Miss Granger. When she was younger, she had a tendency to show off in class, especially when he needed to put other students on the hook for providing answers, and she seemed to lack the ability to synthesize the dry facts from the books she devoured into creative magical expression. At least he could not detect any creativity in her essays. She simply regurgitated facts at an astounding rate.

Yes, the incident with the teeth had been the _highlight_ of his teaching career and he felt he had overstepped even his bounds when that nasty comment had come out of his mouth. In that instance he didn't have to magnify any of her faults, Malfoy had done it for him. When she had returned to his next class, she had seemed more confident somehow and he hadn't been able to put his finger on why until about a month later when he realized she'd used the opportunity to resize those front teeth of hers. _That's the way to do it, Miss Granger_, he remembered silently applauding her.

His usual focus was waning today for some reason and he needed to get back on track. He reviewed what he had scribbled down and concluded he simply did not have enough observational data to cobble together any kind of reasonable hypothesis at the moment. He would have to keep an eye out for more evidence. Maybe he would take Healer Pye up on his suggestion and take a look at Dumbledore's research in the Department of Mysteries. And he would certainly have to watch himself as well. The perception of improved health that he felt when she was around could mess with his ability to make objective observations.

Just as he decided to turn his contemplation toward countering the curse that had claimed the life of Horace Slughorn and was slowly consuming the lives of Kingsley Shacklebolt and Minerva McGonagall, he heard the library door quietly swing open.

Whether presuming he was still asleep or simply not having yet adjusted her eyes to the dark room, she did not see him sitting there. Hearing the hiss of sconces being lit, he narrowed his eyes to dim the illumination and reduce the pain he would feel. Correction: should have felt. There was none. Because she was standing right in front of him? Standing in front of him and still not realizing he was there. He closed his journal softly and smirked, the devil in his eye. He used to enjoy catching students off guard.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," he said, his voice a bit scratchy, not having spoken since the night previous, but it produced the desired result. Her shoulders hunched, as if expecting a curse, and she whirled to face him, wand drawn.

"Oh, Professor Snape," she said, relief evident in her voice. "Good morning, sir."

He did not respond, but returned to his contemplations. She sat down at her desk, silent as the grave, and they both awaited Winky's call to breakfast.

* * *

He could feel her eyes upon him with the initial bite of the porridge that Winky had prepared for their morning meal. At first he was tempted to ignore her. He had, after all, restricted the questioning to dinnertime and this was breakfast, but her intensity flowed across the table in waves that were almost palpable. He tried a furtive glance in her direction and found her exactly as he had seen her so many times before in his class. Back erect, on the edge of her chair and with an energy that suggested she might actually start bouncing in her seat given another minute of silence on his part. The only thing missing was her hand waving in the air, thank Merlin.

"It's a question about the shop, Professor," she said. Tricky, that one - he would have to resist her attempt to draw him into other questions that he had specifically relegated to the evening meal. For now, unfortunately, he had to stand by his word. He nodded acquiescence, dipped his spoon in for another bite of porridge and watched her draw breath in preparation for her onslaught.

"The potion you have brewing on the counter out front - what is it and why are you brewing it there and not in the lab?"

"It's a modification of Amortentia," he said, watching her reaction. "Sans the ashwinder eggs." He interpreted her frown as concentration.

"Without ashwinder eggs it won't drive the victim to the mindless obsession desired by the instigator," she disgorged the information, word for word, from _Advanced Potion-Making_.

"And?" he queried. The creases of her frown deepened.

"The hallmark scents each person experiences would be weaker?"

"Correct. So weak, in fact, as to be nearly subliminal." He dipped his spoon again. "It simply suffuses a gentle feeling of well-being to customers who come to shop." She seemed to mull that over for a moment or two.

"And the consequence would be that they might increase their purchases?"

Snape smirked. "Precisely."

"Magical marketing," she said, smiling too brightly, although _that _ didn't seem to hurt his eyes.

"Indeed."

"And the spell for putting up my hair?" she asked. He gave her as sardonic a look as he could possibly muster over only his fourth spoonful of breakfast. "That's actually a shop question since you insist my hair be contained in a specific way," she added quickly.

"Picture in your mind what arrangement you want and the spell is _Tonstrinum_," he said. She did _not_ just take out her wand! "Miss Granger, I am trying to eat. As soon as I am done, we will tour the greenhouse whether you are finished consuming your meal or not. I suggest you use your time more wisely." He waved his hand toward her and her locks found their way into last evening's configuration.

"Yes, Professor. Thank you, Professor," she said excitedly and tucked into her breakfast.

* * *

The room in which they stood was easily the size of three Hogwarts greenhouses combined. The back door of the kitchen had opened straight into this lush garden which seemed to enjoy the bright sunlight of midday despite the fact that the English sun, weak and wintry at this time of year, would not peek over the horizon for at least another hour. Professor Snape had apparently created some type of magical illumination to supplement the natural solar radiation allowed in by the glass above their heads. The walls on all sides were the same stone as the rest of the shop seemed to be made of and this space too had obviously also been altered by Extension charms.

Many of the plantings were actually in the ground and were neatly divided into knot gardens, probably with magically enchanted climates for each. Along the walls were shelves that had various pots and containers crammed with every herb imaginable. Neville would be drooling already. As her eyes took in the expanse, she wondered if Professor Snape would allow any of her friends to visit her here. And she needed to find out about time off. And when he would start working on reversing the memory charm that cumbered her parents.

Suddenly, she realized that he was standing very close to her. From the corner of her eye, she could see his robes brushing up against hers. She got the very odd sense of waiting, like when a butterfly was flitting about and one postponed movement, stayed quiet and still, to see if it would land on one's arm. She dared not look up; she dared not breathe. After a moment he moved away and for some reason she felt as disappointed as if the butterfly had fluttered off untouched.

"You will also eventually be in charge of the greenhouse, Miss Granger," he said, striding toward the back of the garden. "For now, I want you to make one list of those plants with which you are familiar and with which you have cared for under the supervision of Pomona Sprout and another list of plants that you need to learn about. Each plant is tagged, so you'll have the correct name of those that are foreign to you." He indicated a long table in one corner. "That is the potting bench and this plot," pointing to a larger, more intricate knot, "provides a few vegetables for our table."

She took a step to the side to get a better view of that garden when he suddenly grabbed her arm and instantly raised his other. A long wooden handle flew up from the ground and struck him on the forearm inches from her face. She realized she had just stepped on an abandoned hoe, camouflaged by a large overhanging comfrey leaf.

"As I mentioned yesterday, you may use Winky to help you with any assignment I give you, but you are responsible for the result. Case in point. She has a few peculiar behavioral gaps, one of which seems to be a constant failure to return her tools to the locker," he waved a hand toward a tiny wooden shed near the kitchen entryway. "She is fairly competent with the vegetable garden, but death on some of the rarer herbs I've managed to collect. Watch her closely."

Just then a soft chime sounded indicating a customer had entered the shop. It was 7am and time to open for business.

"I'll get it, Professor," she said and hurried along the main path back the way they had come, leaving him in the garden and making her way through the kitchen and hallway and out into the shop.

The customer hulking over the counter was a huge man with blonde hair and Hermione recognized him immediately, though it was unlikely he would remember her. She had erased his memory of she and Ron and Harry after he had tracked them to the café on Tottenham Court Road. It was the Death Eater Thorfinn Rowle. She felt for the wand in her sleeve, just in case.

He looked down at her, no recognition in his eyes. Then he scanned the shop, apparently expecting someone else.

"Leviathan," he said, his voice almost a whisper.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Dropping Eaves

* * *

"Excuse me?" Hermione said, now absolutely baffled. The man looked desperate and there was an air of decay about him. He had a scruff of a beard clinging to his jaw and his hair was dirty and lank. Disheveled robes suggested he had been on the outskirts of polite society for some time.

"Leviathan," Rowle growled, a little louder this time. "You're supposed to know what that means."

"What is it that you want, Rowle?" Professor Snape asked, coming up behind the former Death Eater. The blonde whirled to face him and she had the sudden urge to turn and look behind her as well. How had the man pulled that off? She hadn't heard him Apparate.

"Snape!" The huge man's fingers twitched, as if he were going to reach for his wand at any moment. Hermione eyed him warily, hand in her pocket, curling fingers around her own. Professor Snape was completely relaxed as he stepped up beside their first customer of the day and set both hands on the counter, wand in neither of them.

"In the flesh," Professor Snape replied.

"They should have told me you were this so-called Leviathan," he spat out, his disgust evident. "I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you." Hermione looked at the broad-shouldered man towering above the both of them and thought that Rowle was definitely misappropriating that idiom. Although the Professor was a good foot taller than she, he had always been a rather thin man and she had no doubt that Rowle could easily throw him just about anywhere Rowle decided he wanted to.

The blonde Death Eater turned toward the exit, apparently believing he had concluded his business. Apparently, Professor Snape did not.

"You know that's not how this works, Thorfinn. You agreed. You've made your choice," Professor Snape said softly, almost casually. Hermione studied her former teacher. He had turned slightly toward Rowle when the big man had stepped away from the counter and she watched him make familiar but subtle adjustments to his stance.

In their DADA class at Hogwarts, he had taught them that a common mistake when facing a fight was to tense up because tight muscles could throw your aim off or interfere with an adjustment if your attacker did something unexpected. Instead he taught them to relax completely. He also told them to keep equal weight in both feet, to stay balanced so movement in any direction was an option. Hermione had seen him show the class this stance time and time again. That's how Professor Snape was standing now and somehow, without her seeing it, his wand was also in his hands, nonchalantly rolling it between his fingers. It wasn't pointing at Rowle - yet. She wondered if the big man knew how much danger he was in. He didn't appear to. He sauntered up to Professor Snape and shoved a thick finger into his chest.

"An uninformed choice is no choice at all," he snarled.

"Nevertheless, I can't let you leave here knowing what you know," Professor Snape asserted, looking the man up and down. "And it appears as though you've run out of options anyway."

From the expression on Rowle's face, Hermione could tell this last statement was true. The blonde Death Eater suddenly looked over at her and she shifted her gaze to find another target, glancing about for something else to look at.

"Miss Granger, I believe you have plenty of tasks awaiting you in back," Professor Snape said, never taking his eyes off Rowle.

Well, that solved the problem of what to look at. She nodded and quickly turned to leave. Very quickly, because she wasn't going to miss what was being said. She heard Rowle mutter "Granger?" just as the back door swung closed and she bolted down the hall to her quarters. Ignoring Crookshanks' meow for attention, she ran to a night stand and pulled out the Extendable Ear that had been left over from their mission to destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes. She had planned to use it as a chew toy for Crooks, but it would come in handy now. Closing her door quietly behind her, ensuring that her pet wouldn't interfere, she tossed the ear portion toward the shop door, put the Extendable string to her own ear and crossed the hall to the library.

"Those are your only choices now, Rowle." She heard Professor Snape's velvety baritone say.

"You betrayed the Dark Lord, Snape, and I know you'll betray me as well, given the chance."

"Ask yourself this, Thorfinn," Snape said softly, "Did I betray our Lord or did I arrange for others to believe that I did? Many have misjudged the extent of my talents."

Hermione's heart was in her throat - this was Harry's theory in a nutshell. Could it possibly be true that he had never been on their side? Her mind was torn. The opportunities that he had presented to her yesterday and the way he treated Winky - that had come from a genuinely good man. Yet here he was conspiring with wanted Death Eaters, as Harry had suspected, and now he himself had nearly verified Harry's theory. Her mind was in a whirl.

"I will Obliviate you and you can go your way. Perhaps Crabbe can help you, although I hear his methods haven't proven that successful."

"And from what I've heard, that's because of you. The Ministry used your Dark Mark to prevent Death Eaters from Apparating out of the country. With the borders magically warded in the same way to block physical exit, we are all trapped, forced to wait for the Aurors to hunt us down."

"Try to think this through," she heard the sneer in Professor Snape's voice. "How could I refuse the Minister's request after I had just proven myself a hero of the war? Really, Rowle, I saw you sorted Slytherin at Hogwarts. What would you do in my place? Especially when I knew I could make Portkeys for our brethren that could easily flout any restrictions the Ministry attempted to set up. There was much more to lose if I had refused Shacklebolt's request. Besides, Auror incompetence is at an all-time high."

"I'd rather take my chances with Crabbe," Rowle stated flatly.

"Excellent," Professor Snape said. "I'll just perform the memory charm and you can be on your way."

Rowle grunted and Hermione presumed he had agreed to the spell. But what she heard next dumbfounded her.

_"Imperio,"_ she heard Professor Snape whisper so softly she almost didn't catch it. Her astonishment at the spell he used made her wonder if she had heard him correctly. A few moments later and she heard heavy footsteps fade as they made their way out of the shop. And other steps, lighter and much more graceful and familiar . . .

_"Accio!"_ she whispered and the Extendable Ear flew to her hand just as she heard the door open. Shoving it in her pocket she ran to her desk, sat down and flipped open the book sitting there, pretending as if she were studying . . . pygmy puffs. Oh, Merlin's beard, she hoped he didn't notice . . . as he strode into the room. Just then the chime sounded and Hermione jumped up from her chair, closing the book as innocently as she could.

"I'll get that, Professor," she said as she whisked by him.

"One moment, Miss Granger," his voice was stern but not threatening. She paused at the library door, not wanting to turn and face him, but knowing that not to do so might appear suspicious. She compromised and threw a look over her shoulder.

"I will be out for the morning," he said. "I believe you capable enough to run the shop in my absence. Please do not disappoint me."

"No, sir, I won't. I've got it," she assured him. He nodded and she had all she could do to measure her steps instead of bolting for the shop. When she got to the counter, she felt something brush against her hand. The string from the Extendable Ear was hanging out of her pocket. It was impossible that he hadn't seen it. Her only hope was that he didn't know what it was.

* * *

Professor Snape was not back by eleven o'clock for lunch and she ate alone, allowing Winky to serve her, though she wondered when and what the house elf ate herself. Perhaps Winky would like to eat with them occasionally?

But then she became distracted, her brain awash with everything that had occurred in the last twenty-four hours. In that short stretch of time, she had observed two Death Eaters colluding with Professor Snape, apparently to find a way to get out of England and avoid capture for their crimes during the war. And Professor Snape seemed completely amenable to helping them. She never liked jumping to conclusions, but Harry might be right about Professor Snape this time. With the contract preventing her from revealing what was going on, she would have to figure out a way to let Harry know what she had seen, but how?

She mulled over this conundrum while nibbling at her sandwich. First she would have to meet Harry somewhere they could talk. That couldn't be here and it would have to be on her own time, as Professor Snape would insist, only he hadn't told her when her free time would be. That's one of the things she would have to ask him about tonight at dinner.

Dare she ask about his meeting with two former, but fellow, Death Eaters? When she had first approached him for his help he had said there was no longer any need for lies between them. Was he actually lying when he told her that? She still had a hard time believing what the evidence was suggesting. And what about the reason that he had betrayed Voldemort?

Just as she was finishing lunch, he entered the kitchen and Hermione's surprise at his appearance overrode her anticipated nervousness at confronting him about his Death Eater friends. He seemed somehow thinner, his face pinched and gaunt, and he was slightly out of breath. She frowned. Yesterday morning when she had first come into the shop, she thought his wasted appearance was a trick of lighting, but now she could see that this was not the case.

"Are you okay, Professor?" Hermione asked. "You seem a bit . . . a bit drawn."

"Nothing lunch won't fix, Miss Granger," he said, pulling out a chair. "Winky? A plate please."

Winky hustled over with another sandwich, placing it front of Professor Snape and then looking up at him adoringly. Not ready to face the issue of Jugson and Rowle, she opted for a diversion, lest he see what was on her mind.

"Winky, would you join us for lunch?" Hermione asked the elf.

Winky inched closer to Professor Snape as he took a bite of his sandwich. He didn't even look down at her.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, Winky," Professor Snape assured the house elf and then looked over at Hermione. Exasperation, she would call the look on his face.

"Miss Granger, I give Winky everything that _she_ wants, not what I think she should have. I see no ill effects on her behavior toward me." Indeed, Winky was gazing up at her master with the utmost loving expression on her face while throwing occasional suspicious glances Hermione's way. "Suppose Winky was at table with us. What would be her reaction if she took the last sausage and then she thought that you had wanted it? You would not be able to convince her otherwise. The self-punishment I might be able to order her to leave off, but the self-loathing would continue unabated. Do you really think she deserves that?"

Hermione had never thought about it that way. House elf behavior had always been a mystery to her. Professor Snape simply did whatever worked to keep the elf happy. Maybe house elves were more in control than Hermione had realized. They usually seemed to get what they wanted.

"Well, she certainly behaves as if she would do anything in the world for you," she commented.

"Winky has been an excellent house elf," Professor Snape stated and Winky simply glowed with pleasure. Yes, he certainly had a way with this house elf. And Winky was definitely happier than she had been at Hogwarts.

Fortunately, the chime sounded and since she had finished her lunch, Hermione stood to go and help their next customer. And, oddly, Professor Snape looked much healthier than when he had entered the kitchen. The sandwich was good, but she doubted that it could have induced such a profound effect on him. _Another mystery to mark for solving_, she thought as she headed for the shop.

* * *

"Why do you want me to research Fiendfyre?"

Professor Snape sat across from her at the table, a lovely dinner between them, and Winky no where in sight. Probably fearful of another invitation to sup with them and hiding in her nest. The rest of the day had been pleasantly busy, they had closed the shop and now it was time to ask the questions that she had been compiling since she arrived there.

"I don't want to tell you right now. It might prejudice your inquiry. I need your mind unbiased about anything you might find."

This pleased Hermione. It meant that he had not just given her make-work but research that he actually needed her to do.

"There isn't much about it in any of your books," she said, slicing out a bite of lovely looking ham. "My report will be quite brief."

"Then it shouldn't take you much longer."

She nodded and asked her next question.

"When do I get time off?"

"Sunday afternoons from 4 pm to 9 pm," he said, a slight smirk on his lips.

"Only five hours a _week_?" Hermione was indignant.

"If you recall, I advised you to read the contract before signing," he said.

"I'd like to read that contract now, Professor Snape."

"The bulk of the contract is in the library but I made several changes to it. The original is filed with the Ministry of Magic, which . . . "

" . . . which is closed on Sundays," Hermione said flatly. She would have to ask Harry to have a copy made for her. That would mean about two weeks minimum before she could lay eyes on that piece of parchment since she would have to ask this coming Sunday and he couldn't give it to her until the Sunday after.

"Indeed," he said and she thought she saw the tiniest twinkle of pleasure in his eye. Git.

"Why aren't Jugson and Rowle in Azkaban?"

He stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth and raised an eyebrow at the audacity of her question. But his answer was calm and measured.

"Because they haven't been caught yet, Miss Granger."

"Then why don't you turn them in?" Hermione had decided not to ask him why he was making Portkeys for wanted Death Eaters trying to escape England and the Ministry Aurors. That would tip her hand that she had been eavesdropping.

"I have my reasons," he said and then quickly added, when she took a breath for another question, "which I will not share with you at this time."

"Why not?"

"Because you have a notorious reputation for interfering and I will not allow you to do so in this circumstance."

"Where did you go today?"

The look he gave her over the pudding needed no explanation. He wasn't going to tell her that either. Hermione pursed her lips. Although he would not answer half her questions, he was not gulping down his food to avoid her either. That pleased her as well, especially in light of the nature of the questions she had asked. She knew how nasty Professor Snape could become.

* * *

_Rain was streaming into her eyes, drenching her clothing and hair. Shivering against the vigorous wind she approached the cliff again, cautious as to what she would find. Might the beast still be there? The boisterous waves testified to the condition of the roiling sea below. She couldn't see the black serpent, so she took another step toward the precipice. Perhaps it was on the strip of beach proper? Feeling driven to catch another glimpse of the monster, she inched forward again._

_And slipped. A firm hand gripped her elbow, righted her and dragged her back from the edge. Looking up to identify the hand's owner, she found herself staring into Severus Snape's intense black eyes. He pulled her close to him and wrapped his black cloak about her, shielding her from the rain and snugging her up under his arm. At first the warmth of his body against hers was comforting but as her shivering relented the contact changed into a different type of heat. Surprised, she looked up at him again and realized her arms were around his waist and his mouth was right_ there _ . . . she raised up on her toes and . . . _

_Yikes! _Her eyes flew open. Her heart was racing as the remaining shreds of the dream drifted away. What the hell? Where on earth had _that _ come from?

She lay staring up at the ceiling as Crookshanks readjusted his position and snugged up against her side. Absently, she stroked his soft, warm fur and her mind, so difficult to quiet at night when there was nothing else to engage it, began analyzing that dream.

It was a variation of the one she had had last night. Obviously, it was at the same location and the same storm had been raging, but the monster in the first had been replaced with Professor Snape in the second. She didn't put much stock into dreams and certainly not to the extent her Divination class expected her to, but Muggle theory probably had it right - dreams were an expression of subconscious thoughts from her own mind. Was her mind equating him with the dangerous serpent of the first dream? That had been the train of her thoughts entertained earlier in the day. But that kiss! She had never ever thought about kissing Professor Snape. Had she?

Her body was still a bit aroused from the dream and so she considered the thought now, wondering how it would feel. He seemed such an aloof man for the most part, would his lips be as warm as they felt in her dream? The next thought was as good as a cold shower. He was a Legilimens! She couldn't be thinking this way - what if he caught such a suggestion in her eyes? He would laugh himself silly.

She cast about for something else to occupy her mind. How would she be able to tell Harry about what was going on here in this apothecary? Just trying to tell him the simplest thing about her new quarters had been impossible. She had overheard Professor Snape confirming her suspicions while talking to Jugson, assuring the Death Eater that she could not relay one word of what she heard to anyone else. Hmm. One _word _. She smiled devilishly to herself and wondered how good Harry was at the Muggle game Charades.

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks to all those who have left a review and everyone who has favorited and followed this story.


	6. Chapter 6

Warning: geek-out ahead! Let me know if it's too boring. Unfortunately for non-geek types, it became central to the story. Oddly, though, it gained importance _after_ I had the story all plotted out. Just lucked out on the mechanics, I guess, and it fit in nice and neat. Whatever is not in the Wikipedia entry under Lethe, I made up.

Reviews are welcome and appreciated! Thanks for reading!

.

Chapter Six: Fiendfyre

* * *

"There are five rivers in hell or Hades, the Greek underworld: Akheron, the river of sorrow; Kokytos, the river of lamentation; Lethe, the river of forgetfulness; Phlegethon, the river of fire; and Styx, the river of hate."

It was Friday evening and they had just sat down to dinner. The rest of the week, after her first twenty-four hours, had been beautifully mundane and there had been plenty of time for study. She had quickly exhausted the references to Fiendfyre despite his extensive library and had turned in her report that morning. Now he wanted a verbal recap.

She paused, then frowned. Something niggled at the back of her mind. For some reason she felt the information she had just given him was incomplete. But if that were the case, then it was also missing from the books in Professor Snape's library; she had been thorough.

"Fiendfyre is brought forth by conjuring the "water" from Phlegethon, the river of fire. The spell is _Pyriphlegethon_. The difficulty controlling Fiendfyre comes somewhat from the spell itself since it is of Greek origin instead of the usual Latin derivation and therefore the standard guidelines don't fully apply and are unfamiliar to most witches and wizards. But the primary problem is the mistaken attempt to control Fiendfyre as if it were a flame when in actuality it is a liquid."

Professor Snape nodded agreement and this encouraged Hermione to no end. It seemed much easier to please him now than it had when she was in school. She continued.

"The amount of Fiendfyre conjured is critical to track because to quench it, water must be called from one of its sister rivers in the same quantity. Alternatively, Fiendfyre must consume a proportional amount of mass before its appetite could be slaked. However that proportion is rather high."

"Yes. Luckily for Hogwarts, you let Fiendfyre loose in a place that had quite a bit of mass available for consumption," Professor Snape said.

"_Me?_ Vincent Crabbe attacked _us_ with Fiendfyre! He couldn't control it and we barely got out alive. His ignorance ended up costing him his life." She couldn't keep the irritation out of her voice. How could he possibly think she would ever use Dark Magic? He seemed to ignore both her ire and her comment.

"Continue."

"Unfortunately, conjuring water from the other rivers in Hades has some distinct drawbacks. First, we have only ever learned to call water from two of the rivers: Lethe and Styx. If we ever knew how to conjure the other two, Akheron or Kokytos, that knowledge seems to be lost in antiquity.

"Second, for some reason it's much easier to conjure Fiendfyre from the Phlegethon than it is water from the rivers that can quench it. This magical imbalance nearly guarantees that the Fiendfyre will get out of hand because it's so easy to underestimate one's ability to call enough of the counteragent to neutralize the conjured blaze. It takes a very powerful wizard to raise water from either of those two rivers and a knowledgeable one to contain it properly. That is why Lethe Water is such an expensive potion ingredient.

"Thirdly, although the water from either conjurable river will quench Fiendfyre, the water itself has distinctive properties that are left behind after the liquid is consumed. For Lethe Water, from the river of forgetfulness, it does indeed leave forgetfulness in its wake. Once the water is gone a miasma will contaminate the general area where the Fiendfyre was quenched, sometimes persisting for decades if not centuries. Anyone straying into that area may have their memory wiped, partially or in total, depending on the strength of the fumes. Lethe Water is the primary ingredient in Forgetfulness Potions for that reason.

Likewise, Styx Water leaves vapors of hate in its wake and will similarly affect those exposed to it. There is a legend that the Forbidden Forest grew in an area so affected and thereby drew all manner of Dark creatures to that spot millennia ago and which dwell there still. Styx Water is not used as a potion ingredient because it turns whoever or whatever ingests it into a maniacal murderer."

He had been slowly eating his dinner as Hermione made her presentation and continued to do so as she paused.

"But you already know all of this, don't you, sir?" she ventured. He looked over at her with a steady gaze.

"Yes, Miss Granger, I do."

Deflated, she began picking at her own meal. She had hoped her research would have been somewhat useful. At least just a little.

"Now, clear your mind," he prompted her. "What is your first impression about this information?"

She hesitated. It was just a feeling, really. Would he laugh at her? Okay, she had never seen Professor Snape laugh. Sneer at her? But he had asked . . .

"Miss Granger?"

"For some reason, I think it might be incomplete. I'm not sure why," she said quickly.

"Any sense of how it might be deficient?"

She was stunned. Was he actually taking her seriously? Why? As if he read her thoughts - her cheeks pinked up a bit at that thought, given her dream life of late - he continued.

"Occasionally we have to inspect our hunches. They may be manifestations of our subconscious trying to work out a problem," he said.

Hermione felt her cheeks flush again when he mentioned subconscious. Hers had been working overtime of late. She kept her eyes focused on the tasty mashed potatoes Winky had prepared for their evening meal. The house elf must have added horseradish.

"We will be going to the library at Hogwarts on Sunday. I have perused most of the stacks there for information on Fiendfyre and have found nothing more than I have in my own library. Together we might be able to finish the search there in a few hours."

"And if we don't find any new facts?"

"I'm open to any suggestions you might come up with," he said. 'No matter how dunderheaded you might think they are. We need to keep our minds open for possible solutions."

"Solutions to what, Professor?"

"I'll show you when we get to Hogwarts. For now, you have the list of potions I need you to start brewing tonight."

"Yes, sir," she said and hurried to finish her dinner.

* * *

Miss Granger would be busy with the new potions for the rest of the evening, several hours at least, and now would be an excellent time to follow up on Rowle. He had been able to reconnect the Dark Marks on each of their arms and could contact his Imperiused agent whenever he chose. Placing his finger against the writhing skull on his left forearm he commanded the Death Eater to meet him at a shabby little pub down the street.

Entering the greenhouse, the moist fragrance of earth and growing things soothed his senses. He had always enjoyed herbology, especially where it overlapped with potions. Lighting his wand, he carefully made his way down the center aisle. Miss Granger hadn't the opportunity to take the garden in hand at this point and who knew how many tools Winky had left laying about. Glancing over at a garden plot near the back, he noted the silver wolfsbane at the far corner and made a mental note to particularly point that out to Miss Granger. He cast a Disillusionment charm and waited as the icy tendrils of the spell flowed over his body and soaked into his skin. Opening the door at the back of the greenhouse, he slipped out into the alley behind.

It must have rained in the past few minutes, not uncommon for this time of year. The cobblestones were slick with moisture and glinted slightly where the light from the nearly half moon above touched them. He added a Silencing spell to muffle his footsteps and chose a route to the alley behind the pub. Not in any hurry, he settled into a leisurely pace, though his long legs made that faster than most could keep up with, and strolled past the back of the shops. He pondered his situation.

Miss Granger had been under contract for less than a week and was fitting in very nicely. She had a knack for working with the customers and was scrupulous at keeping the books. He'd had much more time for study than at anytime previous and she had made a decent start on brewing the selection of potions he wished to offer in his shop. And much to his surprise, he found the conversation at dinner more enjoyable than he had been anticipating. She meticulously honored his mandate to confine her questions to the last meal of the day and he had been considering loosening that condition, though he didn't quite know how to go about it. He certainly didn't want to be deluged every minute of the day with her queries, as he was rather sure she was capable of doing.

The most enjoyable part of his days now were the hours they spent reading in the library, not saying a word. Miss Granger had a focus and an ability to concentrate that nearly rivaled his own and her presence had an energizing effect on him. He still hadn't sorted that mystery out and resolved to visit Healer Pye at the beginning of next week if he could.

He slipped into a smaller alleyway between two weathered buildings and then ducked into the back entrance to his chosen pub. The aroma that hit him was a heavy mix of spilt ale and something unidentifiably fried. Rowle was already at a small table and had started on a pint. He affixed a glamor to his face to avoid being recognized, removed his Disillusionment and crossed the room. Taking a seat across from Rowle, he indicated to the barkeep to bring him a pint also. Then he leaned across the table.

"Tell me about Crabbe's operation."

* * *

Apparently Severus Snape didn't sleep in. Ever. And that meant Hermione didn't either. Not that she did most days, but Sunday mornings had always been reserved for a few hours of catch up. Winky served them breakfast at 6 am like every other day and the only difference was that today the shop would be closed and they would be going to Hogwarts to raid the library. But the early hour didn't bother her this morning - she was actually excited to be going back to the old school. The last time she'd seen it was the day that Harry defeated Voldemort and it had been heavily damaged by the battle. She had heard that it had been completely restored in time for the Fall term, thanks to magic, and that the fight that had occurred there at the end of the last school year had barely been a bump in the road, thanks to its new Headmistress.

It was a lovely breakfast, ham and eggs, scones and jam and was consumed without conversation as were all meals except dinner. She had noticed that the last meal of the day had been getting longer and he really didn't seem to mind her questions, elaborating copiously when a shorter answer would have been more than sufficient. She was starting to wonder if he would like to talk during the other meals, but decided she would leave that up to him. All he had to do was put the shoe on the other foot and ask a question of her.

They finished quickly and stepped up to the large hearth in one corner of the kitchen. Hermione watched as Professor Snape took a generous pinch of Floo Powder, tossed it into the fire and said firmly, "Headmistress' Office, Hogwarts." She waited a moment and then followed suit.

"Severus!" she heard as the spinning slowed and the flashing green flames died down. She shook the ashes from her cloak while on the hearth, as was proper etiquette, and then stepped into Minerva McGonagall's office.

"And Hermione Granger!" Headmistress McGonagall exclaimed. "Come in, dear, come in! What a lovely surprise. Severus usually visits me unaccompanied. I'm so glad he chose to bring his new apprentice with him this time." Hermione's former Transfiguration professor hobbled over, the cane at her side, and upon which she depended heavily, a decidedly new addition. Putting an arm around her shoulders, Professor McGonagall pulled her close. Hermione responded to the Headmistress' affection, but her mind was reeling at her words.

_Apprenticeship?_ She felt dizzy as disjointed facts suddenly clicked into place. _Apprenticeship!_ The contract she had signed had made her Severus Snape's _apprentice?_ She glanced over at her . . . her _mentor._ He simply raised one infuriating eyebrow and managed to quash the smirk that she felt certain he was hiding inside. _Git!_

"It's good to see you Professor McGonagall," she managed to push the words from her mouth.

"Minerva, dear. You address Severus by his first name, I expect no less on my account."

"Miss Granger prefers a more formal relationship and still calls me Professor Snape, Minerva."

Hermione threw him a dirty look and this time he smirked outright and she could swear there was a mischievous glint in his eye. At that moment she had a startling revelation about Severus Snape: the man never corrected anyone's misconceptions of him. In fact, she suspected the opposite; that he most likely encouraged such misconceptions. How on earth could you honestly get to know such a person?

Minerva indicated a small sitting area, absent from Professor Dumbledore's and probably Professor Snape's tenures as headmaster, opposite the ornate desk and Hermione selected a comfy armchair and sat down. It made her feel a bit more stable. Both Professors McGonagall and Snape took chairs across from her. Professor Snape casually crossed his legs.

"I have enlisted Miss Granger's assistance to help me produce a cure for yours and Kingsley's injury."

"Severus, I know of no other witch or wizard who would be more helpful in this situation."

"Nor I. It is one of the reasons I took her on as an apprentice."

Hermione felt her cheeks flush hot at this generous praise from the two professors she respected the most. She ventured a glance at Professor Snape's black eyes and not a hint of sarcasm or cynicism gazed back. She looked down at the tartan-patterned rug at her feet, embarrassed by the pure pleasure she felt at their words.

"And it is time to inform my apprentice," he paused for effect, "of the entire situation. Minerva, if you would begin."

"Hermione, do you remember the battle in the Great Hall with Voldemort? His last spell, before Harry stepped up and took him out, was aimed at Kingsley, Horace and myself as we attempted to rush him. It blasted us off our feet. But it also did something else. You see, he combined it with a curse." She leaned down and pulled up her robe, exposing her left leg, and pulled off the slipper she wore on her foot. Hermione tried not to gasp but the sight presented made it difficult. She leaned forward to get a closer look, her fingers over her mouth.

Half of Professor McGonagall's foot was charred black. It covered all four of her smaller toes, ran up her foot and appeared to end at the back of her heel. It looked exactly like Professor Dumbledore's hand all during sixth year.

"Professor McGonagall . . . " old habits died hard.

"Minerva, dear."

"Yes, Minerva. Does it hurt?"

"No, but thanks only to Severus' potions."

"Is it the same curse that injured Professor Dumbledore?" she asked, looking over at Professor Snape. He glanced up from Minerva's foot and nodded.

"It's much weaker, spread over three people and the curse on the ring that delivered the injury to Dumbledore was at least tripled."

"This is why Professor Slughorn died." It was a statement, not a question, but Professor Snape nodded as if it had been.

"And how does this connect to Fiendfyre?" she asked, though from the charred appearance of the headmistress' foot, she could hazard a guess.

"Fiendfyre!" Minerva exclaimed and turned toward Professor Snape. He eyed her coolly, pursing his lips.

"It was a clever curse the Dark Lord fashioned. It injects a continuous but minuscule trickle of Fiendfyre into the victim's veins and uses a companion spell to confine it to the victim's body. It is designed to act in a torturously slow time frame and in an excruciatingly painful manner. I was able to contract the original restricting spell into as small a space as possible, forcing the Fiendfyre to remain in one part of the body. Healing potions can repair the physical damage once the Fiendfyre is so confined. But the only way to quench the Fiendfyre itself is to use . . ."

"Lethe Water," Hermione finished.

"Yes. But the amount required and the way it needs to be administered would render the patient effectively witless, saving the body only to destroy the mind. Lately, I've incorporated minute amounts of Lethe Water in the weekly potion I give you but I suspect you might be experiencing a bit of absent-mindedness of late?"

"Glad to know that's you and not me, Severus!" Minerva scoffed.

"It seems to have helped to some degree," Professor Snape said indicating her foot. "The darkened area has not progressed." He stood up. "We have a few more stacks to scour for additional information relating to Fiendfyre, Minerva. We best get started. We will join you for lunch. Should we meet you here or the Great Hall?"

Hermione stood also. This curse would have killed Dumbledore if . . . she glanced surreptitiously at Professor Snape. It had killed Horace Slughorn. It would eventually kill Minerva and Minister Shacklebolt. The sooner she got her hands on those books, the sooner they might possibly find a cure.

"Let's have lunch here, Severus," Minerva said but remained seated. She looked up at Hermione and smiled. Then she indicated the chair Professor Snape had just vacated.

"You run along, Hermione. I have something to discuss with Severus. He'll catch up with you in a few minutes."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Games

* * *

"You're looking well, Severus," Minerva McGonagall said and Snape saw a puzzled look creep into her eyes as she watched Miss Granger close the door to her office. "You're looking _exceptionally_ well, actually, considering how emaciated you appeared just last week."

"Winky is an excellent cook, Minerva, I thank you for transferring her ownership to me," he said. Something was up with the headmistress. He sat down in the indicated chair as casually as he could manage, crossing his legs and forcing himself to relax. He disliked when she got personal.

"You've had Winky for months. The only change in your life in the past week has been the addition of our lovely Hermione."

_Our lovely Hermione?_ Snape frowned. Having worked with Minerva for over a decade and a half, he knew when she was promoting an agenda.

"Miss Granger has been of significant assistance to me this past week," he replied simply, neutrally, any elaboration would prompt questions he didn't want to answer. He held Minerva's gaze, daring her to lead the conversation where he thought she might be heading.

"Severus, you are still a young man."

"Time isn't the only thing that ages a person," he said.

"I believe you are right about that. The war forced many young witches and wizards to grow up sooner than they should have," she said and nodded her head toward the door Miss Granger had exited. He shook his head.

"Minerva . . . "

"You know, I've always worried about Hermione finding a proper match. I've wondered why she wasn't sorted Ravenclaw. And I've wondered the same about you since your first day in my Transfiguration class." She held her hand up when he went to interrupt. "I was surprised when she took up with Potter and Weasley, but it turned out fortuitous for the wizarding world that she did. Intellectually, neither of them are on an equal footing with Hermione Granger. In my years of helping raise generation after generation of witches and wizards, that seems to be the critical factor in making a happy match - intellectual equivalence. Hermione has no peer in her generation. Neither do you."

"I'm twenty years older than Miss Granger. She could have no possible interest in me."

"That would be her choice, not yours," Minerva said, smiling broadly. "From your comment, I presume you would not mind a wife twenty years younger?" Snape threw her his nastiest look.

"I was her teacher, I am now her mentor; even the thought would be inappropriate," he said coldly.

"That's why I bring it up, Severus, because it would never occur to you to consider it - precisely for that reason. And you know, although apprenticeships are rare now, in the past there were many times in our history where mentors married their apprentices."

"There are other barriers, Minerva, and one in particular, that would . . . "

"Your love for Lily Evans?" she interrupted. Snape was taken aback. But not because Minerva had the temerity to confront him about Lily. He was shocked that he himself had not thought to offer his feelings for Lily as a reason to counter her argument. That oversight stunned him. When he remained silent, she continued.

"Given the history of my own love life, I can't presume to counsel you on yours, but I would like you to consider one thing. I suspect that with the resolution of your mission to defeat Voldemort that your feelings for Lily will have resolved themselves as well." She looked down at her hands and then rubbed them uneasily together. "Just something to think about."

Snape was still so dazed at his lapse that he couldn't think of anything to say, let alone protest at Minerva's suggestion. She looked back up at him and smiled.

"And there was another bug I wanted to put into your ear," she said. "Whatever the outcome of my condition, at some point my successor will have to be appointed." Her eyes flicked to the portrait of a sleeping Dumbledore above her desk. "I think you should be the next headmaster of Hogwarts."

"My first tenure was not a colossal success, if you recall."

"Knowing now what it could have been, Severus, I have to say it was a _tremendous_ success. Hogwarts, and the wizarding world in general, would benefit immensely to have a Slytherin headmaster that fought against Voldemort. You would be a phenomenal example to Slytherin house and could bring about a unity between the students of all the houses," she emphasized, but then hesitated. "And if you and Hermione happened to get together, that would be an unprecedented example for every student passing through this school.

"You have done so much for our world," Minerva continued. "You deserve a bit of happiness if you can find it." _That_ look settled into the creases of her face. That look, Snape knew, meant she was feeling ashamed, once again, for believing him a traitor and a murderer in the fight against Voldemort.

"I thank you for your concern and your advice, Minerva, but I think I know where this is coming from," Snape said. "You are still feeling guilty about chasing me from Hogwarts last May."

"Well, no. I mean, yes, I still feel badly that I attacked you. I should have noticed that you weren't reciprocating, only defending yourself - not the actions of a genuine Death Eater. It's because of me that you were bitten by that evil snake."

Snape was glad that no one else but Healer Pye knew about his condition. It would devastate Minerva to know the full results of her actions that day. But all that might come out at his death anyway. He didn't want her to blame herself.

"He would have attempted to kill me whether I was in the castle or not. I actually owe you for having my body collected so quickly after Voldemort's defeat. A few more hours and I would have been dead. As far as I'm concerned we are even."

"I still feel ashamed at how easily I accepted that you betrayed us."

"That just means I did my job well, doesn't it?"

"Extremely well. However, my guilt isn't motivating me at the moment. I believe you the best candidate to take my place. And with my condition, Hogwarts might need to replace me sooner rather than later."

"Then perhaps I should join Miss Granger in the library and see if we can't conjure up a cure?" He stood, again, offered his hand in assistance to help her up, but she waved him off.

"She has a profound respect for you, you know, Miss Granger does," Minerva said. "As do we all. You'd have no problem garnering votes from Hogwarts' board of governors. Please keep both of those thoughts in mind, Severus. I'll see the both of you at lunch."

Nodding, he set that week's potion on her desk and left the office, making his way down the steps to the hall. Had Lily, and his love for her, somehow slipped away from his heart?

* * *

Hermione Apparated to a back alley in Muggle London that she had never used before. It was four o'clock and she was determined to enjoy her five hours off to the fullest extent. Seeing as how it was a gloriously beautiful fall day, and warm for the season, she had plotted a path to the pub that would take about half an hour to traverse. Having sat for most of the day in the Hogwarts library, she felt the need to stretch her legs. She headed down the alleyway.

After meeting with the headmistress, they had hit the remaining stacks that Professor Snape had not yet been able to check for information about Fiendfyre. Excepting a brief lunch break, taken in the headmistress' office, they had spent a solid nine hours in the library. Around three-thirty they had finished checking the books on the last shelf and then returned to the apothecary. Unfortunately, no new information had been uncovered. In fact, none of the books had even mentioned Fiendfyre.

After finding out that Minerva and Kingsley Shacklebolt were slowly dying from the same curse that would have taken Dumbledore, Hermione's mind was in overdrive. Although she had been fascinated about her topic when Professor Snape had assigned her to research Fiendfyre, now there was a devastating urgency to find a solution so that the lives of two Order members, her comrades-in-arms, her friends, could be saved.

But she needed to take some time to relax and let go of the problem; give her subconscious an opportunity to make some connections on its own, like Professor Snape had suggested. Earlier in the week she had sent Harry and Ron a message by Patronus to meet her at this particular pub at four-thirty. A leisurely stroll to her anticipated dinner appointment would allow her to disconnect her brain and perhaps get the creative juices stirring in the background.

She looked both ways and then stepped from the alley, merging with the many Muggles also out for a Sunday stroll through London. Since her letter from Hogwarts had arrived when she was eleven, she had never revisited the London she had loved as a child. With each step her expectation grew, excited to see the building that had been one of her favorites. After a short block she crossed the street, strode down the tree-lined walk and there it was.

The British Museum had nourished her imagination ever since she was in fourth grade and Miss Smythe had arranged a field trip for her class. Its stunning architecture had her binging on Greek Revival for months afterward, consuming everything in school and public library that she could get her hands on. Up until the green-inked letter from Professor McGonagall, Minerva - she reminded herself, had arrived by owl, she had wanted to become an architect. She had even compiled all her notes into a carefully organized book on the subject which she still had, somewhere amongst all the others she hadn't yet had a chance to shelve in her quarters.

She took a quick, reminiscent turn about the quadrangle in front of the museum, admiring the columns and capstones, and then resumed her course to the pub. Not only was she anxious to see Harry and Ron, she was getting a bit hungry as well.

A few blocks later and she could pick out Ron's red hair from the passers-by in front of the eatery, and there was Harry at his shoulder. She quickened her pace. Ron smiled at her and was the first to hug, a big comfy bear hug. Harry's was one-armed, around her shoulders, a look of concern on his face.

"Glad to see you're okay," he whispered in her ear. "We have some serious issues to discuss." They entered and Harry quickly led them to a quiet table at the back. She glanced at Ron and his smile was gone, replaced by a worried frown, similar to Harry's. Anxiety played with her tummy, her hunger quelled for the moment. The boys sat down and she followed suit, waiting for Harry to relay his concerns.

"Has there been any unusual activity at Snape's apothecary this past week?" he queried. Despite being in a Muggle pub, he kept his voice low. It was going to be interesting to find out what she would be able to say and what she would have to try and communicate with gestures. Or even if that would work.

"I haven't been there long enough to discern what is unusual and what is not. You will need to be more specific." she replied carefully and was pleased when both sentences came without a problem.

"Have you seen any former Death Eaters about the place?" he clarified. She tried to say _yes_, but nothing came out. Now to test her theory. She nodded - and to no ill effect. Success produced a huge grin. Harry seemed puzzled over her very pleased expression.

"Charades?" she said. Or would it be more like . . . "Twenty Questions?"

"Oi, what?" Ron interjected. Harry glanced at him.

"Muggle games," he said and frowned at her, apparently thinking. "You can't talk?"

"I can't talk about anything related to . . . to . . ." the words were gone. Snape had told Jugson that she couldn't say a word about anything she overheard. The contract was holding.

"To what you hear?" Harry queried, apparently catching on, as she had hoped. She nodded. "To what you see?" She tried to say _Winky has a nest in the kitchen_ , but to no avail and nodded again.

"So I can ask you yes or no questions?"

"Yes."

"Well this could get confusing," Harry mused. Just then a waiter came up to take their order. Harry waved him away with "Three specials, please."

"Four," Ron corrected. Both Hermione and Harry turned to look at him. "What? I skipped lunch. I'm hungry."

"So are you in on this too?" Hermione asked Ron. He shrugged.

"A bit," he said. "Can't do too much, working at the shop all day."

"So Death Eaters are coming to visit Snape. Why?"

Hermione pursed her lips and frowned at him. Hadn't he just figured out he had to ask yes or no questions?

"Oh, yeah." He rubbed his jaw. "Okay. Does Snape want something from these visitors?" She hesitated. Professor Snape seemed to want something from Jugson, but he didn't ask anything from Rowle. However, she had eavesdropped as he Imperioed Rowle. Why do that if he didn't want something from the blond Death Eater? She nodded.

"Is he trying to find these Death Eaters?"

She didn't know if he was or not. She shrugged.

"Are the Death Eaters trying to find him?"

Rowle was looking for someone when he came into the shop, but he was angry when he found out it was Professor Snape. She shrugged again and then nodded. Did that come off as _maybe so_? This wasn't working so well. Hm. Maybe . . .

As covertly as she could, she slipped her wand from her purse, under the table, and conjured a piece of paper and pen. She tried to write the word _Portkey_. As expected, only scribbles came out. She then tried pictures: an old boot, as manky as she could make it; a fair attempt at the Triwizard Cup; a kettle, a hairbrush. With each picture she looked up at a frowning Harry.

"Portkey?"

Hermione nodded and smiled at him.

"Snape made a Portkey?"

Well, she hadn't actually seen him make one yet. She'd only heard him promise one to Jugson and tell Rowle that he could make Portkeys for any Death Eater that wanted out of the country. But how to relate such fine details to Harry? And how to tell him that Rowle was Imperioed? She stared blankly at him instead. She could almost see the wheels trying to turn in his head.

"Rephrase the question?"

She nodded.

"Have you seen Snape make a Portkey?"

She shook her head. He studied her face for a few more moments and then tried again.

"Is he saying he'll make Portkeys for Death Eaters?"

She nodded vigorously.

"Harry, didn't you tell me that Death Eaters are trapped inside England? That some kind of barrier was set up that wouldn't let anyone with a Dark Mark out of the country?" Ron asked.

Hermione nodded her head again and pointed at her other best pal.

"Yeah," Harry said flatly. "And it looks like Snape is helping his Death Eater comrades evade our attempts to catch them. Portkeys . . ." he muttered, his brow furrowed in thought.

The waiter arrived with their meal, a lovely pot roast with potatoes, gravy and vegetables. Ron tucked in immediately, as usual, and she suspected his contribution to the conversation would resume once he had finished. She smiled to herself. As his friend, his table manners really didn't bother her. But she suspected, if they had married, eventually his etiquette would have been as nerve-fraying as a screeching banshee. Professor Snape, on the other hand, had impeccable table manners, though he was as short on conversation when eating as Ron was. At least for breakfast, lunch and tea.

"Could Snape be sending all the Death Eaters to the same place?" Harry asked as he cut his meat into bite-sized pieces. She hadn't overheard enough information to verify that possibility. She shrugged and then ventured a carefully worded question of her own.

"Why aren't the Aurors keeping tabs on . . . Professor Snape?"

"Kingsley says he's a war hero and above reproach. The Minister of Magic trusts him implicitly. His orders are to leave Snape alone."

Hermione could understand that. Kingsley would have copious proof of Snape's loyalty, not only from the final battle at Hogwarts and Harry's testimony, but also from the fact that the potions master was working on a cure for the horrible Fiendfyre curse Voldemort had blasted him with. There was no way to explain that project using Charades, Twenty Questions or Pictionary, especially since it was a privacy issue as well. If Kingsley or Minerva wanted to tell Harry, that was up to them. It wasn't Hermione's place to divulge such information even in an attempt to mitigate Harry's conspiracy theory.

"But . . . ?" She prompted.

"But something's not right. He should be turning these people in. What if Snape is forming a colony of Death Eaters beyond Ministry control? "

"Do you have any actual proof of that?"

"No," Harry replied sullenly. "But if I can get some, Kingsley will have to listen to me. Knowing for certain that Snape is meeting with Death Eaters is a start," he said and looked at her expectantly.

"That behavior is certainly suspicious," Hermione agreed. She did indeed find it odd that Professor Snape was in contact with and apparently aiding known war criminals. But did she really believe that he was set on becoming the next Dark Lord? That idea just didn't fit with what she observed about the man. He was too studious and too contemplative. He seemed to genuinely enjoy learning and appeared completely content with running his apothecary. Total world domination would seem a protrusive item on his agenda, not matching with any of his other pursuits or interests.

And although his manner was blunt and gruff, his actions were nothing of the sort. He had treated her more decently than she had expected and his behavior toward Winky, well, the elf obviously adored her master.

"But I don't agree with what you think his intent might be," she continued, hating to disappoint Harry, but feeling she needed to warn him. "Since I can't tell you everything I know, the only thing I can do is to give you my general impressions and I just can't see Professor Snape wanting to take over the world, wizarding, Muggle, both or either. Sorry, Harry."

"Well, at least keep your eyes and ears peeled," he said, obvious disappointment showing.

"I will," she promised. Couldn't hurt to be observant. After all, those visiting Death Eaters should be in Azkaban.

"Let's finish up here and go to Grimmauld Place to play some real games," Ron said, surfacing for air after having polished off both his meals. "Exploding Snap or Gobstones? What do you say to that, you two?"

"Sounds like a great idea," Hermione sided with Ron. "I really need to unstring the bow, so to speak, and that sounds like a perfect way to do so. And let's stop off and get some Muggle ice cream on the way. We can have dessert while we play."

With plans for the rest of the evening made, she and Harry took a few more minutes to clean their plates and then they all left the pub for an evening of relaxation.

* * *

Snape felt Miss Granger's absence keenly. As soon as she left out the back of the shop and Apparated away, he sensed some of his strength drain from him. He decided he would invest the rest of his evening in the library. He had a few obscure potion manuscripts that might give him some insights on how to counter the adverse effects of Lethe Water in the potion he was giving Kingsley and Minerva. Sitting down in the comfortable leather chair behind his desk, he pulled the old parchments toward him. His concentration was off tonight as well. He rubbed his eyes and attempted to refocus on his topic.

When dinner time rolled around he had Winky bring a snack to him where he sat in the library. Appetite seemed to have fled with his strength. Pulling out his journal, he tried to let his thoughts float, hopefully to make connections he hadn't made before, but to no avail. Finally, his focus completely broken, he decided to go to bed early. His breathing was noticeably labored now. Had he been this bad before Miss Granger had so fortuitously arrived on his doorstep just last week?

His room wasn't nearly as large as he had made his apprentice's quarters; he didn't need it to be. It had a large, _very _ comfortable bed - there were a few items he indulged in. He was not the ascetic that some believed him to be. One wardrobe stood in a corner by the door, housing his clothing and robes. The fireplace, as yet unlit this season, was across from the bed. Although temperatures were cooling as fall advanced, it was not yet as cold in these quarters as it always was in the dungeons at Hogwarts. The door to his bathroom, also much smaller than Miss Granger's, was on the far wall.

He stripped quickly, tossing his clothing into a basket in the wardrobe. Winky would clean them tomorrow and they would be back, ready to use, hanging next to the rest of his clothes. Pulling on a pair of Muggle pajama pants, he crawled into bed. He was so tired, sleep took him quickly. His last remembered thought was to wonder if Miss Granger would use her whole five hours off.

* * *

Consciousness slowly seeped back into his mind and his first tentative awareness was feeling warmer than usual. Luxuriously warm, actually, for not having a fire on the hearth. He usually slept partially on his side, with his arm crooked, that hand under his pillow, and a bent leg propping up his hips. When he went to roll onto his back, to enjoy a good stretch before waking completely, he found his arm pinned to the bed. Cracking open an eye, it was too dark to see anything. He lifted his head, coming fully awake and put a bit more muscle into lifting his arm. A face full of hair was his only reward. _What the hell . . .?_ He tried to move his leg, but it was tangled with someone else's.

_"Lumos,"_ he whispered and a tiny dot of blue light floated above him. He gently brushed away the mass of hair and found a face in profile. Miss Granger's face. Her back was snugged up against his chest and her legs entwined with his. He was flummoxed.

How could she have climbed in next to him and he not wake up? True, he had been exhausted when he had retired to his bed, but to that extent?

And why would she do such a thing? He studied her face, eyes closed and lost in sleep. He couldn't believe that she would actually choose to be here, so his mind searched for alternatives. Could she have returned to the shop, in the dark, and mistaken his quarters for hers? That was unlikely, unless . . . no, she didn't smell of alcohol. The only other possible answer was that Miss Granger was a sleepwalker. She let out a soft sigh and made a slight movement of her head, freeing his arm.

_"Nox!"_ he whispered quickly. He had to get her back to her own bed without waking her. If she was a sleepwalker she wouldn't, gratefully, remember anything about this. He quietly extricated his limbs from hers and eased out of his bed. She didn't wake.

He was momentarily tempted to sweep her up in his arms and carry her back to her room, to her bed. Shaking his head to clear it, he attributed that brief lapse to Minerva's . . . meddling . . . earlier that day. Summoning his wand, he placed a very mild sleeping spell on the girl to ensure she didn't wake and then cast a _Mobilicorpus_ to move her from his room, across the hall and into her own bed.

Returning to his room, he cast a clock charm. It was three in the morning, an hour and an half before he usually awoke. But he was feeling quite energetic, the impairment from the night before completely gone. Was that an effect of being so close to Miss Granger for how ever long she had been in his bed? He pondered that question as he opened the wardrobe and dressed for the day. And he would have to start locking his door at night if he had a sleepwalker on the premises.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: Terms of Endearment

* * *

Hermione pulled the covers over her head and snagged her wand from under a pillow. Aiming at the huge fireplace across the room, she lit a fire in the grate. She sent a spell at the one in the bathroom and hoped it would catch too. Seems the weather was compensating for the unusually warm fall day yesterday by gracing them with a very, very cold morning. Snaking an arm out of her bedding she felt around for her living hot water bottle, to no avail.

"Crooks?" she popped her head out from under the duvet. The cat-kneazle did not respond. Hermione moaned and snuggled back down where it was warmer. Great. If Crookshanks had escaped her room then the chances he would _not _ cross paths with Professor Snape were zero to none. She best get up and hunt him down. Yep. In a few minutes, after the fireplaces had a chance to heat up. How on earth did that feline escape artist get out of her room? He had been there when she got home last night.

Curling up in a tight ball to hoard body heat, wispy shreds of her dreams last night drifted through her mind. There were considerably milder compared to recent ones. All she could remember were Professor Snape's arms around her, holding her tight. She had felt safe and warm. If the dreams got any steamier, she might have to research using a Dreamless Sleep potion now and then.

Yesterday had been great, seeing Ron and Harry. They had played a few rounds of Exploding Snap and one of Gobstones at Harry's place before becoming bored and digging into the ice cream. The evening had devolved into simple conversation which was even more relaxing for Hermione than the games had been. Harry had not brought up the subject of Professor Snape and the Death Eaters again and she had been grateful for that.

As the evening wore on and she had prepared to return to the apothecary, she had asked Harry to get a copy of her apprenticing contract from the Ministry. He promised to do so and bring it with him next week. Then Ron had invited the two of them to the Burrow for dinner next Sunday and she had been pleased to accept. It would be wonderful to catch up with the Weasleys - she hadn't seen the rest of the family for a few months now.

Reluctantly, she cast a clock spell and the luminous numbers informed her it was four-thirty in the morning. She didn't need to get up for another hour, but she best go and try to hunt down Crooks before her mentor found him. Dumb cat. Of course, if she dashed out, found the fluffball and ran back to bed, she would be toasty warm with him under the covers. He would owe her big time, saving him from Professor Snape.

She slipped out of bed and ran to her door, opened it quietly and stepped into the hall. Not Professor Snape's room, not the library, not the potions lab - those doors were always closed. The shop door was usually closed, but sometimes not, so that was an option. But the kitchen door was almost always open, was open now, and tempting tidbits might be found there. She headed that way.

As she stepped through the doorway, she came upon a singular scene. One sconce at the back of the kitchen was blazing and in the light it cast she saw Professor Snape down on one knee facing her Crookshanks, his black robes a pooling shadow on the floor about him. The kneazle was looking up at him attentively and his voice was low, almost a murmur.

"Stay off tables, counters and shelves. The shop is off limits when open to customers - I'm sure you will eventually be able to discern our business hours. I presume your owner has a litter box. You are to use that convenience in lieu of my garden, is that clear?"

The kneazle cocked his head.

"Is that clear?" Professor Snape repeated. Crookshanks finally meowed. Professor Snape flicked his wand at the door to the garden and a small pet door appeared. The feline trotted through it and Hermione watched as the flap closed behind him. Again, she was touched at Professor Snape's kindness.

"I was going to tell you about Crookshanks eventually," Hermione said as Professor Snape stood.

"I suspected he was somewhere about the place or you had farmed him out to unsuspecting friends and he would be returned to you soon enough. He's an excellent mouser."

"How do you know that?" Hermione said, surprised at this comment.

"We encountered each other many times during my nighttime rounds of Hogwarts. Apparently he had an arrangement with the portrait of the Fat Lady and she permitted his egress and ingress. Since he obeyed my restrictions, primarily avoiding Mrs. Norris, and the mouse population decreased substantially, I let him come and go as he pleased. I have no doubt he will comport himself similarly now and so he will enjoy the same freedoms here."

"Well, it's a relief to have that issue resolved," Hermione replied and noticed that his eyes roved down to her feet and then slowly back up to her face.

"Occasionally, I also encountered sleepwalkers in the halls at Hogwarts, Miss Granger," he said and lifted that questioning eyebrow. She felt her face flush, suddenly realizing she was only in her night gown and hadn't bothered to throw on a robe, anticipating scooping Crooks up as soon as she had found him and heading back to bed. Which, she decided, would be what she would do right now: head back to bed.

"No sleepwalkers here, Professor. Just a concerned cat owner." She turned quickly and headed to her quarters. "I'll see you at breakfast," she called back to him just before she slipped back into her room. _No use going back to sleep now_, she thought, knowing she was fully awake, and headed for the bathroom.

She bathed quickly, it was still rather cold, and then dressed for the day. This would be her first full week as apprentice - she still liked calling herself that - and assistant shopkeeper. Since she had at least an hour before breakfast, she decided to shelve some of her books.

Pulling several shrunken boxes from a wardrobe, she tossed them on her bed and resized them. Opening carton after carton, her wand made it quick work to move them to the empty shelves that Professor Snape had provided her. She was going to use the same organizing system she had always used and so there wasn't much to think about as she went along.

Then she remembered the old book from fourth grade that she had put together on Greek Revival architecture. She went back to the wardrobe and pointed her wand at the hundreds of tiny boxes stacked there. Watching carefully for any movement, she tried to Summon that book. Several boxes at one side tumbled off the stack and she picked them up and put them on her bed, resizing them at the same time. Now she went through each, shelving the extraneous tomes until she found what she was looking for.

She smiled when she saw it, its pages and binding just as she remembered. She recalled all the work she had so diligently put into the project: all the notes she had collected on the architectural details; the history of the mythology that she had cobbled together; the pictures she had tried to sketch; stripping the hardcover off another old book and reworking it to bind her own. In her mind, that project had marked her entry into the world of the intelligentsia. With that book she had decided she wanted to be a scholar, to make her studies matter in her life and to work hard at it. That's when she had become the insufferable know-it-all.

Plopping down on her bed, she opened the book for a trip down memory lane. The sketches were so elementary! She perused the accompanying notes - as far as she knew, they were still accurate. She had made sure of that the first time around. She flipped to the section with her notes on Greek mythology. She remembered becoming so fascinated with some of the myths that she kept adding new ones as she found them. Just then a loud crack reverberated throughout her room.

"Miss," Winky said, her eyes pleading. "It's breakfast, Miss."

"Sorry! Coming," she said and was about to close the book. But they never talked during breakfast. What would it hurt if she read while eating, like she used to do at Hogwarts? He couldn't complain that she was being rude, if he never spoke at all. He'd be calling the kettle black in that case, would he not? She smirked to herself, put a finger between the pages to mark her place and then followed Winky to the kitchen.

"My apologies, Professor Snape," she said and sat down at the table. Winky had it piled with a large meal: eggs, toast, porridge, sausage, scones, butter, jam, coffee, even orange juice. Hermione filled her plate and snagged the creamer to prop her book up in front of her plate. She managed a surreptitious glance at the man across from her.

His black gaze was fixed upon her book. She pursed her lips together to suppress a wicked grin, dropped her eyes to the text and waited for a reaction.

"Your book does not have a title, Miss Granger," he said after a few moments. "What is it that you're reading?"

Hermione hadn't quite expected that response.

"It's a, uh, complication of notes. From when I attended a Muggle school. Before Hogwarts," she replied.

"Indeed?" he said. "Would it be related to our Fiendfyre research?"

She opened her mouth to say 'no,' but paused. When writing it, she had included copious notes on Greek mythology. Greek mythology according to Muggle sources. Could that be any different than Greek mythology according to wizarding sources? She didn't know, but decided it might be worth cross checking, just in case.

"I don't know, Professor," she replied. "But I don't think it would hurt to take a look since we ran out of any other sources yesterday."

"When can I expect your report?"

"Perhaps in a day or two?" she calculated quickly. "Depending on how busy the shop is."

He nodded and they continued with their breakfast. Hermione flipped through her book to the last section and began reading what she had recorded on Greek mythology. But then she had another thought. Professor Snape had broached their custom of not speaking at breakfast, so maybe he would entertain a question about their research? She decided to try.

"Professor, what if we used Felix Felicis? Might that potion help us to find an solution to Voldemort's curse?"

"Horace Slughorn sold your class on that snake oil, did he?" Professor Snape grumbled over his scone. "Even the textbook does not explain the most significant drawback of using Liquid Luck."

"He gave Harry a vial of it the first day of class."

"That would explain a few things," he said and Hermione saw his shoulders slump slightly. "And I suspect Potter used it a several weeks prior to . . . the incident on the Astronomy tower?"

"Yes." Hermione's breakfast suddenly felt very heavy in her stomach.

"Felix Felicis gives the user a few hours of extraordinary luck because it extracts that luck from the future. The imbiber will find soon after taking it that his luck has soured considerably. Slughorn didn't happen to mention that effect, did he? Incompetent. Magic can sometimes have unintended consequences."

Hermione was stunned. No wonder things went so wrong so quickly after Harry had obtained Slughorn's Horcrux memory. Harry almost killed Malfoy in the bathroom and earned detention for the rest of the term. Dumbledore was killed prematurely, before he had time to teach Harry. How much easier would their mission have been if they had known how to destroy Horcruxes before they started? If they had had the Sword of Gryffindor?

And the memory spell she had used on her parents; magic did have unintended consequences if its use wasn't fully understood. And that reminded her - she would have to ask Professor Snape when they would start working on solving her problem. Glancing at him over her book, she decided she would bring that question up at dinner tonight.

In short order they finished eating and Winky came to clear the table. Standing, she found him staring at her, his eyes narrowing.

"I have some errands to attend to this morning, Miss Granger. I will leave my shop in your capable hands and should be back shortly," he said. She got the feeling he was waiting for her to leave the kitchen. Obviously, he didn't want her to know his destination.

"I'll go and start a new batch of the modified Amortentia," she said and closed her book. If customers were sparse this morning, she might be able to make a significant start on her newest research project. She walked down the hall and, just before entering the shop, she heard the whoosh of Floo transport.

Each evening she laid out the ingredients for the next day's 'marketing' potion, as she liked to think of it, and so it was an easy task to get a new batch started first thing every morning. Just as she put the last herb in and set a perfect flame for simmering, the soft chime sounded and she looked up. Oh, this was not good.

"Good morning, Mr. Jugson," she tried to maintain a civil tone and at the same time discretely slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out her wand, but kept both out of sight. The Death Eater sauntered up to the counter. He surveyed the shop, obviously looking for someone else.

"Where's Snape?"

"The proprietor is away for the morning. How may I help you?"

He looked her up and down and, feeling even more uncomfortable, she took a firmer grip on her wand.

"Tell him I have some of the information he wants," Jugson sneered at her.

"I can relay a message if you would like," she said as casually as she could manage. Maybe she could winkle some details from him about the extent of Professor Snape's collusion with the Death Eaters that visited the shop.

"You'd like that wouldn't you? Run to the Ministry as soon as I leave?"

"You know Professor Snape ensured I would not be able to do that, Mr. Jugson," she said. Since her mentor had told the man about that clause, it appeared she could discuss it with him as well.

"That's what he told me, but how do I know it's true? Why would _you_, of all people, be working for a Death Eater?"

"He duped me into signing that contract," she said flatly, letting her actual built-up ire at some of its unfair terms rise to the surface. "Believe me, if I was not under such constraint, this place would be swarming with Aurors and you would be in the custody of the Ministry as we speak," she added disdainfully, hoping he believed what she said, since she half-believed it herself. "Besides, if you don't trust him, why are _you_ here?"

"He's helped three of my friends escape the country already. And this contract business with you - that sounds exactly like the old Snape I used to know," he said, laughing. "In fact, I might just trust him more because you _are_ here. Okay - give him a message: Tell Snape _he_ will make his move within the next two weeks." Jugson then turned abruptly and strode toward the front door.

_What?_ Hermione thought. _That doesn't tell me anything._ She rushed around the counter to follow him and see if she could get more information, but he nearly shoved an entering customer out of his way as he passed through the entry. Frustrated at not being able to leave the store unattended, she saw Jugson briefly as he passed in front of the windows and then he was gone.

* * *

"This is remarkable, Severus," Healer Pye said. Snape saw the pleased expression on Pye's face as the Healer watched the display of light from the diagnostic. "I would almost have to conclude that you have been cured."

"It will diminish in a moment or two."

"And you say this phenomenon occurs when you are around Hermione Granger?"

"Yes. _Only_ when I'm around Hermione Granger."

"Then I suggest you do your best to remain in Hermione Granger's presence."

Snape pinned the Healer with an inky glare that should have, by all rights, left the man dead on the floor.

"I would prefer a cure to a crutch, Healer Pye," Snape did his best not to snarl.

"What if this _is_ a cure?"

"Then why does the effect dissipate when we are apart? Cast your diagnostic again. I'm sure you will get a different set of numbers."

Unfortunately, Snape could not see the results that the second spell displayed, since they were floating above his head, but the look on Healer Pye's face was almost as telling.

"Yes. This is a substantially different reading. The effect wears off the longer you are away from her?"

"And further. I can feel a difference when I am in the garden and she is in the shop. Conversely, my health improves more rapidly the closer we are together."

"Then marry the girl, Severus. She's obviously in love with you."

Snape came close to biting his tongue off in an effort to prevent the sarcastic retort on its tip from escaping his lips. Was everyone colluding to marry him off to Miss Granger? The idea was ridiculous. She showed no signs whatsoever that she was in love with him. He consciously attempted to relax his jaw.

"I don't have to marry the chit, Pye. As soon as I felt the effect she had on me, I . . . persuaded . . . her to accept a seven-year contract as my apprentice."

"Really? How very mercenary of you. So we possibly have seven years to figure this out."

"Possibly?" Snape was sure the contract was binding for every day of those seven years.

"I'm guessing that she could fall out of love with you at any time."

"There has to be another reason for the effect," Snape ground out, exasperation pushing at his words. "Hermione Granger is not in love with me," The next breath he took was considerably more difficult than the previous one.

"If you're absolutely sure about that, then we will have to look elsewhere for causation. Have you had a chance to review Dumbledore's notes on the magical effects of love?"

"Not as yet," Snape answered.

"Why don't we meet in the Department of Mysteries for our next visit? Two can review his notes faster than one. Maybe that will give us another perspective."

Snape nodded grudgingly. Anything to wrest from the Healer's head the notion of Miss Granger's feelings being the primary cause of his recuperation. He stood to leave, but a weakness seemed to attack his legs and if he hadn't locked his knees, he might have tipped over.

Pye was too good of a Healer not to notice. He flicked his wand, casting a third diagnostic. Concern emerged in his expression for the first time since Snape had arrived.

"What the devil . . . you seem much worse off than last week," he mumbled, reaching for a quill and scroll of parchment and scribbling down the spelled numbers. "I'll have to compare this with my other notes and get back to you. Something strange is going on."

"And I will take my leave as I have another errand to attend to," Snape said. He was feeling a bit better - maybe standing up had just temporarily affected his equilibrium - and headed for the fireplace in the corner of Pye's office. He would have to stop off at the shop for a few minutes and rebuild his energy by . . . by getting as close to Miss Granger as possible. The thought chaffed at him. He took a pinch of Floo Powder from the bowl on the mantle.

"Home."

* * *

"So how are you and Hermione Granger getting along?" Minister Shacklebolt queried as soon as Snape stepped out of the fireplace and into the elegantly appointed office. He reflexively tightened the hold on his wand. If Kingsley so much as hinted at a marital union between himself and his apprentice, Snape was going to hex him into oblivion, Minister of Magic notwithstanding.

"Miss Granger has proven herself a capable apprentice. As long as she stays that course, we shall get along swimmingly," Snape said smoothly, keeping his comment as professional as possible and hoping Shacklebolt would do the same. He remained standing in front of the Minister's desk.

"Excellent, Severus! That was sheer genius getting her to move into your shop the way you did," the Minister replied, but then his face clouded slightly and he looked doubtful. "But I don't quite recall why it was necessary."

_Oh, bloody hell_, Snape castigated himself. _Too much Lethe Water in the Minister's potion last week._ He had been afraid that might happen but had hoped Shacklebolt's memory wouldn't have deteriorated so quickly. Fortunately, he had brought two potions with him, one with the extra Lethe Water and one without. They were walking a fine line between staving off the effects of the curse and rendering Shacklebolt unfit to fulfill his position as Minister of Magic.

"Now I remember - it was to save them from the Death Eaters," Shacklebolt suddenly smiled and Snape let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. "Yes, a very excellent job, Severus," he reiterated, but then frowned again. "That reminds me. Harry has related his concerns about you meeting with your former Death Eater acquaintances."

"How does Potter know about that?" Snape asked, concerned as to how the boy-wonder had come across that information. "Aren't your Aurors watching him?"

"We can't have a 24/7 guard on him, we don't have enough Aurors for that. But we keep him paired up with other Aurors-in-training during the day and tail him as best we can until he retires for the evening. The same for Weasley, which is a bit easier since he spends so much time in his brother's shop. The entire Auror department is on alert and will respond in an instant if the alarm is raised. It will be difficult for Death Eaters to get near them. How is our project in that regard, by the way?"

Snape had planned on telling the Minister about his encounter with Rowle, but with Shacklebolt's memory on the fritz, he decided to hold off on that particular tidbit. Most likely the Minister would not even notice a well placed deflection.

"Let's take a look at your shoulder first, Minister," he said, deftly sidestepping the question. When the wound was uncovered, he was disappointed. The area had not shrunk as he hoped it would. But did that mean if he backed off on the Lethe Water that the Fiendfyre would increase? Had the curse grown stronger? With their plan for the remaining Death Eaters coming to a head, could they risk Shacklebolt's memory falling apart and the Minister inadvertently letting slip information that could prove detrimental to their strategy? Snape took more time than necessary to examine the injury. He needed to think.

Weighing the decision that faced him now, it was a risk either way. But Snape felt it would be safer to keep his success with Rowle to himself for the moment. He would put the Minister back on the less powerful potion and hope his memory would improve before Snape would discuss anything more about the Death Eaters with him. He pulled the Minister's robes back over his shoulder, his decision made.

"And you were right, Severus. I do have more movement in this arm." Shacklebolt said. Snape nodded gravely, suspected that his condition would now regress, and then pulled the weaker potion from his pocket.

* * *

Professor Snape had returned, once again looking worn out and gaunt. This puzzled and concerned Hermione but he had rapidly improved and throughout the day, as they had attended to their customers or researched in the library or dined in the kitchen, he had seemed completely healthy. This was starting to make her blame the lighting again.

Hermione had been delighted when, midway through their day, he had put a pet door in all the doors on the premises excepting the one to the shop. They could just leave that one open at night and Crookshanks could patrol the aisles as he wished. Crooks even had access to Professor Snape's room and the library which indicated the extent to which her mentor trusted the feline. She had no idea that the two of them had had such a trusting relationship, though Professor Snape seemed to get along with magical creatures just fine. Apparently it was only humans he had trouble with.

Dinnertime came quickly and she had spent spare moments of her day refining a few pointed questions to present him with. But first, a message had to be delivered.

"Mr. Jugson came in this morning," she began. He looked at her expectantly, apparently sensing additional information lurking behind her words. "He left a message for you: 'Tell Snape that _he_ will make his move within the next two weeks.'"

"And you didn't tell me this sooner because . . . ?"

"I wanted to discuss it without interruption," she replied and tried her best to quash the smirk that tried to control her lips. It was his edict for her not to ask questions at mealtimes other than dinner.

"There's nothing to discuss. In future, you are to relay any messages immediately."

"Certainly. But this one didn't seem time-sensitive and I wanted to ask you why you're helping Jugson escape the country. Why not turn him over to the Ministry?"

"We've discussed this before. It's none of your business."

"And that answer is unsatisfactory, Professor Snape," she said, barely believing herself brazen enough to speak to him in such a way, but she was determined to get to the bottom of his incongruent behavior of fraternizing with Death Eaters. His black eyes blazed as he glared at her. She expected this and had been fortifying her courage all day so that she wouldn't back down. She glared back.

"Is it because he is a friend of yours?" she continued when he said nothing more.

"I have no friends, Miss Granger."

A sudden ache clutched at her heart. She recalled the pain of being friendless before coming to Hogwarts and then finding Harry, Ron and the other students that had unequivocally become her friends - and friends she trusted with her life. He had no friends. By necessity, he had alienated everyone on Dumbledore's side. Out of conscience, he had betrayed everyone on Voldemort's. She looked down at her soup, chasing a noodle about the bowl with her spoon. She didn't want him reading _that_ in her eyes.

"Not even some of your old schoolmates?"

"All Death Eaters, those still alive. And I'm no more friends with them than I am with members of the Order."

"Did you ever have friends? I mean true friends. Someone you could count on."

"Only two," he said quietly and attended to his own bowl of soup.

"Lily Potter?" Her bravery this evening was bordering on the insane.

"Lily Evans," he corrected, but didn't seem bothered by the mention of his lost love's name. "By the time she was a Potter, we were no longer friends."

Curiosity hadn't gotten Hermione killed yet, so she ventured another question.

"And the other?"

"Albus Dumbledore."

Hermione froze. Professor Snape was responsible for the deaths of both; of the only two friends he had ever had. She sat in uncomprehending silence, a hot lump forming in the back of her throat that prevented her from speaking. All thoughts of her original query evaporated. His black eyes glanced over at her briefly.

"Yes, Miss Granger. It's best for all concerned that I _not_ have friends."

"But Minerva and Kingsley? Surely they could be considered . . . "

"Do your parents, as dentists, regard their patients as friends? Or vice versa? I suspect not."

She swallowed hard and did the best she could to handle the emotions she was feeling on his behalf. When Harry had told her everything he had seen in Snape's memories about their potion master's past she had had a hard time holding back her tears. The man had such a heavy burden to bear. Taking a deep breath, she knew she had to change the subject in order to maintain some semblance of control and since he had brought it up . . .

"Speaking of my parents, when do we start working on a way to get their memories back?" she asked, softly clearing her throat.

"There's plenty of time before we need concern ourselves with that problem," he said casually, reaching for a thick slice of bread to sop his soup with.

"What do you mean? We have a contract - you have to help my parents in exchange for seven years of my labor."

"That is correct, Miss Granger, but I don't have to fulfill my end of the deal until you have fulfilled yours."

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews, favs and follows!


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: Erised

* * *

Snape watched Miss Granger's face as his words registered in her mind. He suspected she wasn't going to take that well and he was correct. Her jaw clenched and her skin paled. She stood, rather shakily, and stared at him, lips pressed into a thin line. His ever-ready smirk was about to make its appearance when she closed her eyes and he watched as a single tear trailed slowly down her face.

"It appears I am no longer hungry, Professor Snape. Please excuse me," she said, her voice strained. He watched as she turned and left the kitchen. Returning to his meal, he realized he wasn't really hungry anymore either. He stared at his plate uncomfortably for several moments.

"Winky," he called. The little elf appeared, pink towel as bright as ever, and looked up at him.

"Master is done so soon?" she queried and started wringing her hands.

"The meal was excellent as always, Winky. We just aren't very hungry tonight." This explanation didn't seem to satisfy her.

"Master needs to eat. Master needs to get strong," Winky said and Snape looked down, staring at her. "Winky sees, Master," the elf continued. "Winky sees Master is sick." Now the elf really became nervous and Snape sensed he was going to have to do something before her anxiety escalated and she started punishing herself.

"I think you are correct, Winky. I will eat a bit more before you clear the table," he said and made himself finish off the mashed potatoes and a few bites of broccoli, keeping an eye on his house elf. As she relaxed, he slowly stopped eating but realized that there was another problem he had to address.

"You aren't to tell anyone that I am ill, Winky, is that clear?" he said, his voice low. "No one can know. That is a direct order."

"Yes, Master," she said happily, apparently gratified at his attempt to finish his meal.

Even after the dishes were gone, he continued sitting where he was, wondering why he should care about the way Miss Granger was feeling. It didn't matter, really. It was for her own safety. Still, he supposed he hadn't needed to be so abrupt about it. Now he was left with the vague impression that he should try to make amends.

Pushing away from the table, he stood and walked to the fireplace. Reaching for a pinch of Floo Powder, he hesitated. He didn't really have to do this. But then he decided that he _wanted_ to and knelt down, tossing the powder into the flames.

"Minerva?" he stated clearly and waited for a response. Thankfully, the headmistress was in her office.

"Yes, Severus?"

"May I come through? There is something I need to retrieve from the things I stored in the castle."

"Certainly, Severus."

* * *

Hermione tried not to slam her bedroom door behind her, but she wasn't entirely successful. He was such a . . . bastard? Arse? Git? But only a few moments before she had been thinking . . . genius. Hero. Damaged. And she had felt sorry for the man. Now she wanted to strangle him.

After the last meal of the day they would normally spend the rest of the evening researching, but as far as she was concerned, it was still dinnertime and if she wasn't going to eat, she could do whatever she wanted with that time. Opening the wardrobe where she had stored her books, she decided to finish the job she had started, channeling her anger into something useful.

Enlarging, unpacking and shelving the rest of her books barely took twenty minutes and her anger had assuaged itself somewhat while she worked. He would be expecting her in the library in a few minutes. Deciding she would focus on comparing the Muggle version of Greek mythology to that in the wizarding version, she reached for her homemade book. There was a light tap at her door.

"Miss Granger?" She heard Professor Snape's voice, soft and low, further muffled by the closed door. Did she sense a note of concern? Unlikely. She opened the door a few inches, not sure what to expect. Professor Snape was standing there, a large covered object floating behind him. She felt like slamming the door in his face, though feared what consequence he might be able to levy against her. She absolutely needed to get a copy of that contract and examine the details. Opening the door all the way, she faced him fully, arms crossed, as defiant as her Gryffindor courage could muster.

"I. . . ah . . . have something for you," he said softly and waited until she reluctantly stepped aside so he could enter. His black robes billowed softly as he entered the room, the floating object following him. He indicated the wardrobes. "Do you have an empty one?" She nodded and pointed to the far end. Professor Snape opened its door, flicked his wand and the trailing object floated inside. Then he murmured _"Evanesco,"_ vanishing the object's cover and closed the wardrobe.

"To use this, stand here," he said and stepped away. She was still by the door, arms still crossed. She suspected their contract wouldn't allow him to order her about in her own quarters and at the moment she was not inclined to following his instructions. At the same time, her curiosity was starting to burn. What was he up to?

He waited. Did that mean he couldn't order her about, here in her room, or because he didn't want to? The reason would make a difference, but she was loath to ask. She grudgingly uncrossed her arms and walked over to the spot he indicated. Standing behind her, he gently took hold of her shoulders and turned her round to face the wardrobe. With Professor Snape standing just feet from her bed and with his hands touching her and gently guiding, she was reminded of the dreams she had been having and blushed. She was glad he couldn't see her face.

"Before opening the door, clear your mind completely and focus on wanting to see your parents just as they are, at precisely the moment you are thinking of them. When you've made that the one overriding desire of your heart, open the door. At all other times, keep the door closed. I'm trusting you to follow my instructions on this lest you encounter unwanted consequences," he said. When she stood there blank and unresponsive, he added quietly, "That's advice, Miss Granger, not a command. I hope you're wise enough to follow it." His hands dropped from her shoulders and he turned and walked out of her room.

Hermione stood there, staring at the wardrobe and contemplated what had just happened. Was he making some type of apology? Professor Snape said to concentrate on her parents before opening the door. Why? Suddenly, she had an overwhelming desire to see her parents, even if they wouldn't recognize her. Hopefully that would satisfy his requirements. She opened the wardrobe door.

It was a mirror. It was taller than she was, ornately framed, and it's silvery surface was misty. As she watched, the mists cleared and she could see a darkened bedroom, a large bed in the center of the scene. A small light on the night stand next to the bed cast just enough light to read by and . . . her father . . . had fallen asleep, an open book on his chest. He was wearing the red and gold pajamas that she had gotten him for Christmas a few years ago. Her mother was snuggled next to his side.

Her hand flew to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. It was so good to see them again. After things had settled down somewhat following Voldemort's defeat, her first order of business had been to head to Australia to retrieve her parents. It had been an odd thing visiting them at their office. She had made an appointment to get her teeth checked and cleaned and had nervously sat down in the chair waiting for her mother to enter the examination room. Hermione had pulled her wand and had tried to reverse her original memory charm while her mother's back was turned. It didn't work. Her mother's eyes held no recognition of her at all. Hermione had sat through the exam desperately trying not to cry. The warming sound of her mother's voice, her touch, her scent, the very comfort of her presence, pressed against her heart and she left the office trembling with sorrow.

That's why she was here now. And all she could do was watch them from a distance, through a magical mirror. She put her finger to the glass, running it down the image of her father's sleeping face. This was better than nothing, she supposed.

Wiping her eyes, she closed the wardrobe and went to fetch her book. A noise by the door made her turn around, just as Crookshanks snaked through his brand new pet door. He trotted up to Hermione and rubbed up against her ankles. It's the first time she'd seen him since this morning when she had watched Professor Snape and her cat have an incredible conversation about the rules of living in the apothecary. He had been so kind to her cat. She scooped him up. Since tacit permission had been given when Professor Snape installed a pet door in the library, she carried Crooks across the hall, entered the room and sat down at her desk.

Arranging the furball on her lap, she opened her book. Crookshanks started purring. Loudly. Hermione took a quick glance at Professor Snape, but he either didn't mind or was pretending not to. She stroked the ginger fur and began reading.

After about twenty minutes attempting to concentrate, she knew she was still too distracted to make any headway on her planned research.

"Why give me the mirror?" she finally asked Professor Snape.

"Excuse me?" he replied, glancing up briefly from a parchment he had been writing on.

"Why the mirror? Instead of just helping me restore my parents memory?"

"It's none of your . . ."

"How can my parents welfare be none of my business?" she interrupted. She was no longer angry and she was no longer weepy. She just wanted to know the truth. "As you pointed out when I first came here, there is no reason for lies between us, yet you don't trust me with your secrets."

"Your contract ensures that I can trust you with my secrets, does it not?" he said, waiting a few moments and then flicking his gaze to hers as he waited for a reply. She lowered her eyes and blushed as she suddenly remembered that she had found a way to let Harry know some of what was going on here at the apothecary.

"I'm a _very_ good liar, Miss Granger," he said slowly, returning quill to parchment. "_You_, on the other hand, are not."

_He knows._

* * *

Business at the shop picked up significantly over the next few days. The apothecary had only been open for a few months and Professor Snape had done an excellent job stocking it with all types of potion ingredients, some very rare. That had drawn in their first customers and constituted their initial sales. Now that Hermione was there, they were offering pre-made potions on a consistent basis and more purchases were coming in. Pepper Up Potion was especially popular this time of year and Professor Snape's particular version was very effective. The potions lab always had a cauldron or two of the concoction simmering, waiting to be bottled, which Hermione now had to do in the evenings, trying to catch up with demand.

And it seemed that more than typical Knockturn Alley dwellers were increasingly among their customers. Apparently Professor Snape's reputation for potion-making was also luring in the more upstanding patrons from the peaceful streets of Diagon Alley. The increased traffic had not allowed her time to do much research, but she had been able to sneak a few pages in here and there.

She had used the mirror only once more since Professor Snape had installed it in her wardrobe. One evening before going to bed she had spent ten minutes watching her parents share a pot of tea. She had sat down in front of the mirror, cross-legged, cuddling with Crookshanks and just stared, hungry to see them again. It wasn't as emotionally depleting as it had been the first time. Some of that upset was surely due to finding out about Professor Snape's interpretation of their contract.

Settling in last week had found her scrambling to cover all of the assignments that Professor Snape had tasked her with. Hermione was an organizer; with her things, with her tasks and with her time. She had quickly found a routine and had optimized her schedule, with one exception: the garden.

That's where she was now, familiarizing herself with the plants, their groupings, their locations and their requirements. It had all been laid out very neatly and tended well. Every plant looked healthy and they were all clearly tagged. Many were familiar from drawings in her school books and from the practical experience she had gained from Professor Sprout during labs in the greenhouses at Hogwarts. Some she had never seen before and these she lingered over, writing down their names, making a general description of the plant and then adding a little sketch of its leaves, stems and overall visual aspect.

The greenhouse was lovely. Quiet, verdant and with a heady, clean fragrance, this was a place to soak up tranquility just as the plants soaked up the sun. She was looking forward to spending time here, getting her hands dirty while she tended each plot, each plant. It was the kind of mindless task that she enjoyed the most - getting something useful done while she let her thoughts wander aimlessly about, free to make unfettered connections.

Walking down an aisle near the back of the greenhouse, lush plants on both sides nearly obscuring the path, she noticed an unplanted area near the end of one plot. The odd thing was, there was a name tag over the spot, though nothing was written upon it. She scribbled a note amongst the other descriptions to remind herself to ask Professor Snape about this empty patch. Perhaps it was for a plant he was hoping to collect?

Moving around the end of the plot, she tripped and nearly face planted it against the greenhouse wall. What on earth? Turning around, she found a shovel partially hidden by the plants. She knew who she had to talk to about that.

"Winky!"

Winky Apparated right in front of her. This was going to be hard to do. The little elf's face was alight with eagerness and it was obvious that she was expecting Hermione to begin issuing commands. Instead she was going to have to reprimand Winky and that would subsequently require her intervention in the self-recriminations that would surely follow.

"Winky," she began, dreading to execute this task. But then a sudden thought occurred to her. "How did you learn to garden?" When the elf looked puzzled, she added, "How did you learn to take care of these plants?"

Winky's face broke into a broad smile.

"Master show Winky," she answered. "House elves know cooking and house elves know cleaning. House elves don't know these," she said, waving her little hand around the greenhouse.

"So you've only been gardening . . . taking care of the plants . . . for a few months?"

The elf nodded eagerly.

_No wonder_, thought Hermione. It's probably just a matter of time and practice before she remembers to pick up after herself. Hermione decided to soften her approach.

"Would you put this shovel back in the locker for me?"

Winky looked puzzled, but snapped her fingers and the shovel disappeared. Then she looked expectantly up at Hermione for another command.

"Um, well," Hermione desperately searched her mind for something else she could give the elf to do. Then she remembered the cold, cold mornings of late.

"I was wondering if you would be able to, uh, keep the hearth lit in my room during the night? It's getting colder and . . . "

"Yes, Miss!" Winky said enthusiastically. "Winky will make sure Miss is warm at night."

Feeling guilty at giving the elf orders, Hermione wanted to reward her as well.

"Professor Snape certainly depends on you, Winky."

The little house elf glowed with pleasure. Hermione was bemused at how just the mention of her master's name gave the creature such delight. Then she thought of something else that Winky could help her with.

"Would you be able to teach me what Professor Snape taught you about caring for these plants?"

"Yes, Miss. Master taught me many things. Winky will show you."

They spent the rest of the day reviewing the garden, excepting a few hours spent at meals or when the shop was very busy.

* * *

They were mostly done with breakfast, Friday morning, when Hermione found it. Her book was propped up against the creamer again, and she had been steadily making her way through the section on Greek mythology every morning since she had pulled it out of the wardrobe. When she saw the one sentence that might change everything, she was so excited she nearly choked on her last sip of coffee. What she found might save the lives of both Minister Shacklebolt and Headmistress McGonagall. But she had to be sure.

Professor Snape had been patient and had not questioned her about the report she shad been assigned even though it was well past the two days that she had predicted it would take. Now, he looked up from his meal as she sputtered.

"Difficulties, Miss Granger?" he said calmly and watching her closely as she coughed to clear the liquid from her throat. She was excited and wanted to tell him about what she had found, but more than that, she wanted to make sure it was correct. After all, she had put the book together when she was in the fourth grade. It would be best if she could double check those facts before presenting them to Professor Snape. That would entail visiting a Muggle library. Would he let her leave the shop for a few hours? Maybe if she optimized her time.

"I may have found something, Professor. However, I would prefer to verify a few facts before I pass on that information. May I leave early this Sunday? I would like to visit the London Library for a few hours before I take my weekly time off."

Watching his face as he considered this request, she didn't think it would be that hard of a decision to make, but he remained silent for several moments. He didn't seem angry, just contemplative as if he were weighing pros against cons.

"I think that will be acceptable. What time did you want to leave?"

* * *

.

Author's Note: Reviews are appreciated!


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Desire

* * *

Chapter Ten: Desire

* * *

.

He had agreed.

She would be leaving about one o'clock tomorrow afternoon and she could barely contain her excitement. If her information checked out, and she felt confident that it would, it could be a major step toward formulating a cure for Voldemort's Fiendfyre curse. She was glad that it was a busy Saturday afternoon as it took her mind off the anticipation of tomorrow's trip. And to top it off, after researching at the library she would be spending the rest of the afternoon at the Burrow, catching up with the current goings-on of the Weasley clan.

Very nearly humming, literally, she assisted customer after customer. It had become so busy that Professor Snape spent most of the day in the shop as well and served as many customers as she had. They took turns eating lunch and skipped tea completely.

Throughout the day Hermione surreptitiously studied her mentor as they attended to their customers. Although not overtly friendly, he was polite and very patient with each and every one of them. At Hogwarts, patience seemed the least of his virtues and she wondered at the change. His short temper and caustic remarks had kept all of his students on their toes and they jumped to obey his every instruction with alacrity. She had noticed that this exacting obedience from his pupils had avoided serious accidents on numerous occasions. Was it as simple as that? That he only used an abrasive manner to keep his students on their toes and therefore safe? Potions was the most dangerous class offered at Hogwarts. To have that type of control over rowdy, inattentive students would certainly be advantageous.

Or was it because that while he taught at Hogwarts he also had to handle the stress of spying on Voldemort? On the other hand could Harry's theory be correct? Had Professor Snape actually manipulated everyone in the Order into believing he was on their side and now he was attempting to reconstitute the Death Eaters in order to make a bid to take up where Voldemort had left off? Were the kindnesses he had shown her and Winky simply a manipulation to make her believe in him? But then why work so diligently to cure Kingsley and Minerva?

Of course . . . he could just be a git. Hermione smiled to herself as she weighed a scoop of powdered frog spawn for the witch she was assisting. Her eyes flicked up to catch Professor Snape watching and she quickly averted her gaze when he lifted an eyebrow at her.

Traffic slowed down near the end of the day and about thirty minutes before they were to close the shop it seemed they had finally run out of customers. Professor Snape had retreated to the back, either to work in the potions lab or study in the library, and Hermione began laying out the ingredients to make a fresh batch of the modified Amortentia potion first thing in the morning.

She heard the soft chime, looked up and caught her breath. It was a Death Eater. Not only were the tell-tale signs there: the tattered robes, the gaunt and hunted look in the eye, the anxious manner but, like Jugson and Rowle before him, Hermione recognized Travers from first hand experience. She had seen him when they had visited the Lovegood home looking for information about the Deathly Hallows and the Snatchers had shown up. She had gotten a brief glimpse of the man just before Disapparating herself, Harry and Ron out of Luna's room. Watching warily as he approached the counter, she knew what he was going to say.

"Leviathan," Travers ground out and looked her up and down, the suggestion of a leer on his face.

"Yes sir, one moment please," Hermione said nervously and turned to fetch Professor Snape. But just as she reached the door to the back, Professor Snape pushed it open. Worry washed through her as she looked up at him, he met her eyes but then brushed past her to attend to Travers. She followed him to the counter and stood behind it as he walked around the front to shake hands with their latest customer.

"All set, Travers?"

"That's right, Snape. Time to go," the man said and leaned against the counter, turning somewhat toward Hermione. "I see you have an . . . assistant . . . now." She could smell his stale breath as he leaned closer. She was suddenly glad that the counter was between them.

"An apprentice, actually," said Professor Snape smoothly. "An indentured apprentice, in fact."

"You have her on a _full_ contract?" Travers asked in a low voice, aside, to Professor Snape. Looking back at Hermione, the Death Eater's eyes again dipped downward, roamed up and down her body and then back up. That was a definite leer on his face. She was taken aback.

"Of course," Professor Snape said snidely. "She wouldn't be worth the trouble if it weren't." He smirked at the customer, his black eyes glinting. "In fact," he drawled and took out his wand, "I think we will be closing early tonight." He flicked a spell at the entrance and the sign hanging there flipped to _Closed_. She heard the lock snick into place. Then he turned to her, a very suggestive look on his face, his lids lazily hooding his eyes. She froze in shock.

"Miss Granger," he nodded toward the back. His smirk faded as his eyes very slowly roamed from her face, lingered a bit below her chin, and then continued downward. Suddenly they flicked back up to her eyes. The leer on his face shocked her and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks. "You know what is next on our agenda. I'll be there in a few moments." Stunned at his behavior, she just wanted to get away from the two of them.

"Y-yes, Professor" she replied, turning as quickly as possible and heading to the door to the back. The unsavory customer let loose a hearty laugh.

"Snape, you dog!" the man exclaimed. "This shop. Hobnobbing with the Ministry higher-ups and now this tasty little morsel . . ."

_Tasty morsel?_ She pulled her wand and turned to confront the lech. Professor Snape saw her reaction and casually took a step to the side, putting Travers between them. The Death Eater moved slightly to face Professor Snape, turning his back to Hermione. Over the top of his head she caught the warning in her mentor's narrowed gaze. But she felt like hexing the both of them to kingdom come and raised her wand. Professor Snape's wand slipped into his hand from his sleeve and she hesitated. Perhaps in this instance discretion outranked valor? Besides, if she caused a scene, she might not get the chance to find out what was going on with Travers. She turned on her heel and exited the shop, pausing on the other side of the door and leaving it cracked just enough to hear the conversation by the counter.

"You're set for life. Again. I have never known anyone with such an uncanny knack for ending up on top."

"Yes," agreed the rumbling voice of her mentor. "I happen to like being on top." She heard the customer's roar of laughter again and grit her teeth. A faint rattling noise, like a metal object vibrating on the counter, reached her ears and she gambled opening the door just a smidgen to see what was going on.

"Well, good luck then, Travers," Professor Snape said and held out his hand again, which Travers shook warmly.

"It's programmed for Gordes, France?"

"As you requested. And thank you for the information you found for me, it was invaluable."

"I'd say anytime, but I don't expect to ever see you again, Snape," the man snickered. "And enjoy your, uh . . ." Travers' eyes flicked to door behind which she was hiding and she froze, ". . . your _agenda_." The man laughed again and took hold of an ingredient scoop laying on the counter. Instantly, he disappeared.

She softly let the door close and ran down the hall to the kitchen. This had better be where he was expecting to find her. Nervous, she couldn't decide whether to sit or stand. Feeling the need to be ready to defend herself, should she hold her wand openly or conceal it in her pocket? Before she could decide, Professor Snape strode into the kitchen and she whirled to confront him. They stood facing each other for a moment or two, her wand pointing up at his chest.

"As I have mentioned previously, Miss Granger," he said softly, "I am a very good liar."

"But how can I tell when you're lying and when you're not?"

"You can't," he replied. "That's the point. It was why I was so effective against the Dark Lord."

"Or why you are able to lie to us now?" she queried. He paused before answering, looking down at the floor. Then shifting his weight slightly, he lifted his gaze and sighed.

"If you choose to believe that."

He sat down at the table, ignoring the wand she still aimed at him. Their dinner appeared immediately and he began filling his plate. After a few moments she pocketed her wand and joined him.

* * *

_Once again, she was at the edge of the cliff and the sheeting rain had her soaked through within seconds. The turbulent sea repeatedly threw itself on the rocks below and she could taste salt on her lips. She was used to this dream now and knew what would happen next. Severus Snape came up behind her and wrapped his arms and his black robes about her. She leaned back against his chest and he cast a spell that dried her immediately. The heat from his body left her pleasantly warm. He lowered his head next to hers and kissed her neck. She knew this is where she should break away and force herself to wake up, but the fire that shot through her body persuaded her otherwise. It was just a dream after all. She turned around within the warmth of his arms and rose up on tiptoe to meet his lips. His kiss was soft and intoxicating, turning urgent as she refused to break away, lengthening their contact. When they did break the kiss, his lips continued along her jaw and down her throat. He pulled the robes off her shoulder and continued his explorations until . . ._

Hermione jolted awake. She lay there for several moments trying to deal with the sensations caused by her dream. It wasn't working. A cold shower, that should do it. She threw off the blankets, burying Crookshanks, who simply began purring.

Winky had done an excellent job of keeping up the fires in her quarters and her room was at a perfect nocturnal temperature - cooler than the day, but warmer than it had been when the fires went out at night. Making her way to the bathroom, she stripped out of her nightgown and jumped into the shower. She bit her lip to keep from screaming when the ice cold water assaulted her body. Thankfully, that shocked her erogenous zones out of what they had been contemplating. Just a few seconds under the showerhead did the trick and she jumped back out, wandlessly Summoning a towel. She dried off as quickly as she could, put her nightgown on and streaked back to her bed.

Crooks complained loudly when she pounced, extricating him from the blankets and pulling him under the covers to cuddle. She wondered why she kept having these dreams. Was she actually attracted to Professor Snape? Obviously her dreams indicated she was _physically_ attracted to him - she blushed in the darkness at that thought - but what about other ways? She wasn't sure they could even be considered friends. But why not? Professor Snape himself said he had no friends, which eliminated her as well. Apparently that was his choice. Would he change his mind? Could he?

If there was someway that they could embark on a relationship, could she accept him as he was? He had shown her remarkable kindnesses on several occasions but had been equally unkind, brusque, and . . . insufferable . . . on others. He made decisions unilaterally, without her input, on some issues, but on others seemed to genuinely want her opinion.

And then there was his questionable activities with his Death Eater pals. What on earth was going on there? His talent for lying made her uneasy. How could she ever trust someone who could lie so well?

These were all topics she would have discussed with her parents, particularly her mother. At this moment she felt their absence keenly. Not wanting to encourage her soul to melancholy, she had made spares use of the mirror that Professor Snape had given her. Feeling under her pillow and retrieving her wand, she cast a clock charm. It was three o'clock here and so it was eight o'clock where her parents lived in Australia. She jumped out of bed again, to Crookshanks' bothered but sleepy yowl, and stood in front of the wardrobe that housed the mirror. Concentrating on her parents, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

Her mouth dropped open. The image before her eyes did not include her parents at all, thankfully. On the contrary, it showed her in a very intimate embrace with Severus Snape. It was very similar to her reoccurring dream on the cliff except for one addition: they both wore gold bands on the ring fingers of their left hands.

_What the hell?_

"Lumos!" With sudden intuition, she held up the tip of her wand, illuminating the interior of the wardrobe and closely examined the frame. It was an ornate one and gleamed gold, which she had not even noticed previously, so preoccupied she had been with the images before her in the glass. The words carved into the arch of the frame confirmed her suspicion. _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_

It was the Mirror of Erised, no doubt remained. Professor Snape's advice now made sense. But the image it presented? This was the desire of her heart? She was shaken as she watched herself in Severus Snape's arms. How could this be? Closing the wardrobe, she returned to her bed and crawled back under the covers. She had plenty of food for thought and a good cuddle with her kitty would help tremendously. But Crooks was gone. Either he abandoned her bed for someplace where he would not be disturbed or gave it up as a bad deal altogether and decided to go hunting. She couldn't blame him.

She was glad that she would be meeting with Harry and Ron in about a dozen hours. They both had experience with this mirror and might be able to help parse her qualms about what she had just seen. Not that she would divulge what the image had actually displayed - her cheeks heated up at the thought - but she would ask them about the properties of the mirror and their opinions about what the context of the images found there might mean. The potential answers to those questions had her mind humming for the next few hours and sleep fled as surely as Crookshanks had.

* * *

Snape watched Miss Granger leave the kitchen and enter the garden. Through the window in the door he observed her as she walked down the main aisle between the plants and disappeared out of the back door that led to the alley. She would return in about eight hours. He might as well go to bed now. He turned and headed for his quarters.

As he stripped off robes and clothing he could already feel her absence. Pulling on his pajama bottoms, he remembered he was to meet Healer Pye at the Department of Mysteries tomorrow rather than at his office. As he thought about it, it would probably be best if they met in the evening. He was sure he could arrange that with Shacklebolt in the morning when he went to check on him and it would allow Pye to stay longer if he choose to, since his day would be done and he wouldn't have to attend to patients. Besides, the Ministry would be essentially deserted in the evening and he preferred interacting with as few people as possible. He drew his wand and sent his doe patronus to relay that message to Healer Pye.

He climbed into bed and pulled a book off the stack on his night stand. At least he could read until he passed out. But before tackling the book, he ruminated over his day so far.

After breakfast they had spent several hours reading in the library. That had become one of the more enjoyable parts of Snape's day. Miss Granger was at her desk, across from his, and he didn't have to make an excuse to be near her. Her magical influence made him feel rested and alert and allowed him to engage more effectively in one of his favorite activities: contemplative study.

About midday, the two of them had used the Floo to check up on Headmistress McGonagall and Winky had been predictably chagrined when told they would be away for lunch. Minerva appeared to be holding her own, but he had backed off the potion with the extra Lethe Water anyway, just to be sure. He might be able to alternate the potions to help alleviate the problem of memory loss.

He wondered what interesting tidbit Miss Granger had come up with. She had seemed excited when reading her Muggle book at breakfast on Friday. They certainly could use some kind of break on the Fiendfyre research and coming from her, he knew it might be a significant find. That she wanted to double check her discovery before disclosing the information simply added to his opinion of the quality of her research.

Miss Granger. He was pleased at how well she was adapting to her life as his apprentice. And she seemed to genuinely enjoy her assignments and didn't require supervision in the least degree. She was a superb fit for his apothecary. Of course there were her annoying suspicions about his activities with wanted Death Eaters. It was best he not reveal what he was up to on that account. But he found he wanted to tell her anyway, he wanted her to know. It had never bothered him before when others thought ill of him. Why should it do so now?

His strength was slowly draining along with cogent thought. Sleep found him before he even cracked the book.

* * *

Hermione Apparated directly into the bathroom at the London Library. Since the place was closed on Sundays, she would have the library entirely to herself. She could barely contain her excitement as she hurried through the stacks to the very familiar area she had haunted as a child. This was not the most popular section and she suspected the volumes she needed would not have been checked out.

She ran her fingers across the spines of the books on Greek mythology and found a few that she was familiar with, piling several into her arms. Laying them on a nearby table, she pulled out a chair and began organizing her research. With three hours of uninterrupted time in front of her, she had no doubt that by the time she left the library she would have verified her finding. Or not.

Selecting a book from the top of the pile, she started with the index tracking down the particular topic she was interested in and turned to the page indicated. Heart pounding, she began reading. If the information in her homemade book could be authenticated, they might be able to use it to counter the effects of the Lethe Water.

And there it was, in black and white. She had correctly transferred the information. They now had a chance, although unexplored as yet, and it was still better than anything else they had come up with. She reached for another book, and then another. They all agreed. She could barely contain her excitement. Professor Snape would be pleased.

Now she began wondering why this information wasn't in any wizarding texts. Why would Muggles have this data and wizards did not? It might be something that Professor Snape would want to know and something that would convince him that this was legitimate information. This took more time to uncover but when she left the library to meet Harry and Ron at the Burrow, she had that answer as well.

Apparating from the library's bathroom to a point outside of Ottery St. Catchpole, just to the side of the road to the Burrow, Hermione gave herself a few minutes to compose her thoughts as she walked along. It was difficult to put aside the exhilaration about the information she had gleaned from the library. She actually wanted to skip the dinner, Apparate back to the apothecary and tell Professor Snape the exciting news. But then she remembered that she also wanted to talk to Harry and Ron about the mirror in her wardrobe.

As she walked along, she savored the lovely day. Autumn was in full swing and the colorful leaves on the trees testified to the changing season. It was a cool afternoon, but the sun was shining and it just smelled like Fall. There was a gentle whiff of wood smoke - maybe someone burning leaves somewhere - and an overall feeling as if the earth itself was preparing for a long winter's nap.

But then another feeling encroached upon her mind. She suddenly had the odd sensation that she was being watched. Looking about she couldn't see anyone, but drew her wand anyway. Stopping to listen for any unusual sound, she didn't hear anything other than birdsong and bug buzzings. Not being able to resolve her foreboding, she continued walking but added haste to her steps.

She was a bit late when she got to the Burrow, but Ron and George were outside apparently de-gnoming the front yard. George saw her first and ran up for a big hug, swinging her off her feet in the process and then, upon her landing, holding her at arms length.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed. "It's been ages." She saw his big smile falter as he remembered that the last time he had seen her was at the inquest the Ministry had held regarding the unresolved death of his twin, Fred, as well as others who died during the war against Voldemort. All the wands belonging to Death Eaters, dead or captured, had been checked using _Priori Incantatem_ and lists of the murdered had been compiled and attributed to the wand used. Garrick Ollivander had then testified as to the owner of the wand and charges had been laid upon the head of those responsible, if in custody. The dead had the names of their victims chiseled into their tombstones.

Fred Weasley's name had not been on the list. His murderer had escaped the final battle and had not yet been apprehended. With a heavy heart, she wondered if one of the Death Eaters that Professor Snape was helping to escape the country was the one that killed Fred. Jugson? Rowle? Travers?

"How are you doing, George?" she asked, widening her eyes a bit in the hopes that he wouldn't see the moisture gathering there.

"I'm fine, Hermione, really," he assured her but with a somberness that belied the words. Then his smile was back. "I hear you're much worse off, slaving away in Snape's shop. What were you thinking, girl?"

"We do what we have to for our families, don't we?" she replied, knowing it explained everything that needed to be said.

"Yeah, we do."

Ron came up and extricated her from George's grip for a hug of his own. It had only been a week since she had last seen him but she had missed him all the same.

"I've something to discuss with you and Harry," she said, looking about for a black-haired head. "Is he inside with Ginny?"

"Not here yet," George said, shaking his head.

"Any minute now, I suppose," she added. "Bring me in to see the rest of the family! It will be the perfect excuse for abandoning your gnome-hunting. Oh, cleaning spell first."

She flicked her wand at their hands and the three of them trouped up to the house and Hermione was enveloped in Molly's Weasley arms before she even gained the door.

"Mrs. Weasley, it's so, so good to see you again," she managed to eke out the words without the full use of her lungs. When the hug loosened a bit, she added, "It's been too long."

"Come in, come in," Mrs. Weasley said and shooed the three of them into the house. "Dinner's almost ready. Where's Harry, dear? Didn't he come with you?"

"Not here yet, mum," George answered. Hermione followed the Weasley matriarch into the kitchen where Ginny was setting the table. After her fourth Weasley hug of the day, Hermione took a seat across from Ron.

"Arthur! Percy!" Mrs. Weasley yelled out the kitchen window to the back yard where Hermione could see Mr. Weasley slinging a gnome about his head. "Dinnertime!" After a garbled answer, accompanied by sounds of enthusiasm, Mr. Weasley and Percy tromped through the back door.

"Where's Harry?" Mr. Weasley inquired and before George could answer, the sound of the front door did so for him. Ginny popped up from the table and rushed into the hall. A moment or two later, his hand in hers, she pulled Harry into the kitchen and settled him into a chair next to Ron and then she sat down on the chair next to him.

Hermione studied her friend's face. He seemed a bit paler than usual, and dispirited, with a worried crease between his brows. When his eyes flicked up to catch hers, she knew something was wrong. She glanced at Ron and the look in his eyes confirmed her interpretation of Harry's mood. They would have to talk, just the three of them.

Dinner was a typical Weasley family event: too much food and too much noise. Hermione loved it. Although there were obvious moments when it was easy to tell that Fred was dearly missed, those lulls were bridged over by the family's typical wit and fortitude. They were recovering and it heartened her to see it. At the same time she ached at the thought that Professor Snape wasn't assisting that recovery. He might even be hindering it.

After eating way too many meat pies, Mrs. Weasley kept scooping them onto her plate, Harry caught her eye and discreetly tilted his head toward the back door. Hermione gave a slight nod, as did Ron, and the three of them stood.

"We're gonna go walk off all this food, mum," he gave the excuse out of habit but Mrs. Weasley was no longer appeared to be suspicious. Surely there was no need to plot against Voldemort any longer, so what could the three of them be up to? Harry looked down at Ginny and gave her hand a squeeze. She pursed her lips at him, but then nodded, annoyance perturbing her features.

Outside, they headed for an old picnic table at the back of the property and, almost without thinking, Hermione cast a _Muffilato_. She and Ron sat down on the table top, feet on the benches, while Harry stood, his face all seriousness.

"Hermione, your former landlady, Mrs. Murphy . . . " he said slowly, " . . . is dead."

"Mrs. Murphy died?" she said, confused. Harry had met her landlady once or twice while visiting her flat, but how would he know if she passed away? And why would he . . . _Harry's an Auror_, she reminded herself. _Oh, Merlin's stars_ . . .

"She was killed by Death Eaters. The Killing Curse, after all was said and done. And they left their calling card, a Dark Mark in the sky above the apartment building at around two o'clock this afternoon."

"Harry . . . " she gripped the table to steady herself. Ron put his hand over hers and squeezed, as if he could transfer his strength to her.

"At least we know it couldn't have been Snape," Harry said grudgingly. "He has you as his alibi."

Hermione's stomach churned. She felt light-headed, dizzy. Professor Snape didn't have an alibi, at least not one that she could give him. Had he agreed to her visit to the London Library a bit too quickly? And now she remembered back to that first day when she had asked him to help with her parents. He had known where she lived! He was making deals with Death Eaters for information in return for Portkey transport. Is that how he knew where her flat was? Where Mrs. Murphy lived? Hermione wanted to vomit.

But what about their Fiendfyre research to help Kingsley and Minerva? His concern for them was genuine, wasn't it? _I'm a very good liar, Miss Granger_, he had told her. Bloody hell, the man was a _superlative_ liar to have delivered outright falsehoods straight to Voldemort's face. _But was he lying now?_

"Doesn't he?" Harry must have seen the look on her face. "Hermione?"

Was she betraying Professor Snape or was he betraying them? He had made it impossible for her to discern the difference. Could she take the chance? She gazed up into Harry's green eyes and shook her head.

"So you were not with Snape at two o'clock this afternoon?"

Again she shook her head.

"Have you seen Death Eaters at the apothecary since we last met?"

She nodded.

"Did Snape promise to make him a Portkey?"

She nodded again and then urged him along that line of thought with a hand gesture.

"Did you see him make a Portkey for this Death Eater?"

Another nod, another urging. Harry paused and she could almost see the cogs turning in his head.

"You saw the Death Eater use the Portkey?"

Nod.

"Do you know where the Portkey transported to? Was it out of the country?"

Two nods. Harry's face flushed. He was livid.

"Filthy bastard," he spat and fell silent.

Hermione couldn't agree. Nor could she disagree. She hung her head, completely baffled as to what to believe, what to feel.

"Do you know who the Death Eater was?" Harry finally asked. She nodded, conjured a piece of parchment and a self-inking quill and started sketching furiously. A few well placed lines and the suggestion of a flying motorcycle appeared and then the huge form of Hagrid driving. A few more and Harry was mounted on the cycle behind Hagrid, twisting around to hurl a spell. Voldemort was next, flying without aid of a broom and casting his own curse. Just off to the side, Hermione sketched another wizard, astride a broom and wandless. She circled him.

"Travers?" Ron guessed.

She nodded.

"Travers was at the Battle of Hogwarts," said Harry.

"Yes he was," Hermione confirmed, unconstrained by her contract on this point. "I saw him there." That meant he had escaped the Aurors after Voldemort was defeated. And that meant he might have killed Fred. He was in France now, thanks to Professor Snape, and most likely would never be held accountable for his crimes.

"Kingsley has to listen to me now," Harry said flatly. "We have to put a stop to Snape's operations."

"Please be careful, Harry." She looked over at Ron, knowing he would be helping his best mate. "You too, Ron. These are desperate people and that makes them even more dangerous."

"You need to watch your back as well, Hermione," Ron added. "You're smack in the middle of the serpent's nest."

"I don't think that Professor Snape will hurt me," she said. When she saw the doubtful looks on both their faces she added, "But I'll keep my guard up."

With such somber news of Mrs. Murphy's death, her intention to ask Harry and Ron about the Mirror of Erised shrank to insignificance in comparison and she decided not to even bring up the subject.

The rest of the evening wasn't as enjoyable as Hermione had anticipated when she arrived earlier that afternoon. Nevertheless, they made the best of it and attempted to, at least, not drag the down the jovial nature of the gathering. She left early.

.

* * *

Author's Note: Okay! Now we start tying all the little mysteries together!


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven: Missing

* * *

_The stormy sea, broidered with milky foam, raged below her as she stood at the edge of the cliff. Whipped by the winds, the rain chilled and drenched her and she shivered while waiting for him to arrive. It was only a moment and she was in his arms once more. Now warm and dry, his lips were soft against hers, his arms strong and protective. Their embrace heated, passion flared and his kisses trailed fire down her neck. She shivered again, but not because she was cold._

_He swept her into his arms and turned. In every dream she had always faced the sea. Now she saw that there was a small stone cottage several yards behind them to which he headed. Inside it was dark but warm, a low fire smouldered on the hearth, and after a few strides he gently laid her on the bed. Her arms were around his neck and she didn't let go when he tried to stand. Pulling herself up, she initiated another kiss and he was easily persuaded to push her back onto the indulgent bedding and stretch out on top of her. He nuzzled her throat. She was desperate for more contact and scrabbled at his jacket. Damn buttons!_

_She wiggled further under his body and wrapped her legs around his waist. He moaned softly until she settled._

_"Hermione . . ." he murmured against her ear. The sound of her name as it rumbled through his chest made her skin tingle in very pleasant ways._

_"Severus . . . please . . ." she pushed against him, ". . . please . . . "_

_"Mmmss . . mmajemm," he murmured. Grasping her wrists he pinned them down on either side of her head._

_"Miss Granger," she heard him say, not soothing susurrations, but a command seemingly from a long distance away._

"Miss Granger!"

As the mists of sleep began to clear the Severus of her dream was morphing into the Professor Snape of her reality. Both of them had her wrists pinned to the bed. While she struggled to full consciousness she also struggled against his restraint. She remembered the leering suggestions of the Death Eater Travers on Saturday evening and her outrage returned.

"You have no right!" she spat at him and tried to twist her wrists out of his grasp. He was too strong.

"On the contrary, I have every right," he said. "Another reason you should have read your contract."

That damn contract again! With Mrs. Murphy's death she had forgotten to ask Harry about it. Even if her mentor had a contractual right to . . .

"I believed you too honorable to do such a thing!"

"I'm not doing anything of the sort."

"Then why are you in my bed?"

"I am not, Miss Granger. You are in mine." He said and then murmured _"Lumos!"_

Squinting against the bright light, Hermione could see enough of the room past Professor Snape to discern that they were definitely not in her quarters. He loomed over her, his black hair falling forward partially obscuring his face. She tried not to notice his bare chest and hoped he wasn't completely naked. Although he was a thin man, she was surprised at the firm musculature under that white, white skin.

"Not only do you sleepwalk, but apparently you sleepapparate as well. This is the second time I've found you in my bed. I locked the door to my quarters after the first incident."

"The first incident?" Hermione was stunned. "I've been in your room before?"

"Room _and_ bed. Fortunately, last Sunday you remained asleep and . . . ah . . . dreamless and I was able to transport you to your own quarters without waking you." He seemed to be trembling slightly. "I didn't want to embarrass you."

"I think it would be best if I went back to my own room."

"Indeed."

"If you would let go of me?"

"You'll have to release me first, Miss Granger."

Only then did she realize how far her dream had merged with reality. Her legs were still wrapped around his waist. Nearly every shred of her dignity was gone by the time she was able to untangle herself and he let her go. She slid out of his bed and headed for the door.

_At least I still have my nightgown on _, she thought, trying to console herself as she crossed the hall to her own room. She was mortified as she slunk back through her own door and closed it firmly behind her. Never in her life had she ever been a sleepwalker, let alone Apparated while asleep. Why would that suddenly change?

And the contract? Had Harry forgotten to get a copy of her contract as he had promised? Or had the tragedy of Mrs. Murphy's death rattled him as badly as it had rattled her and they had both forgotten about it? If it wasn't so late, she would send a message to Harry by Patronus. _First thing tomorrow_, she promised herself.

She lifted the blanket on her bed and slid beneath, disturbing Crookshanks to the point where he grumped out an annoyed wrawl. Adjusting the bedding to her liking, she fluffed the pillow and lay her head down, tucking a hand underneath. Her fingers found a familiar piece of vine wood and they tingled from the magic that flowed from it.

If her wand was here, how could she have Apparated into Professor Snape's room?

* * *

Snape watched until his apprentice closed the door behind her. He groaned and rolled onto his belly, burying his face in a pillow. He certainly hoped she hadn't felt _that _. It was time for a cold shower.

As he made his way to the bathroom, he tried to exorcize the memory of Miss Granger's recent activities from his mind. Her kisses had been ardent and her intent had been obvious. Too bad she had been dreaming. He would have to set up anti-Apparation spells to prevent her entry into his quarters in future.

Stepping into the shower, he suddenly realized - in the throes of her passion, dream or not, she had called out his name.

* * *

"Wizarding references tell of the five rivers of hell: Akheron, Kokytos, Lethe, Phlegethon and Styx, as do Muggle texts on Greek mythology. But in the past hundred years Muggle archeology has uncovered more information that it appears wizards never knew."

It was Monday morning and they were at the kitchen table working their way through Winky's hearty breakfast. She was still embarrassed after what had happened last night, but Professor Snape was obviously ignoring the whole fiasco and that helped her feel a bit more confident as she presented the research she had verified at the London Library yesterday. _Avoid eye contact_, she decided. The excitement that her information might help cure Minerva and Kingsley buoyed her spirits.

"The Greeks had several mystery religions which, due to their belief in limiting knowledge to inducted members of their particular cults, had information that they did not share. Apparently, the Muggles uncovered some of that lore."

"Fascinating, Miss Granger, but what is your point?"

"There is a sixth river that exists in hell. Mnemosyne, the river of remembrance," she said simply and waited for his reaction.

"A sixth river." It was a statement, not a question. Professor Snape came very close to smiling outright. It was a lopsided one with a trace of a smirk still resident, but it could be classified as a smile nonetheless, she decided.

"Yes, it was thought that, after death, souls drank of the river Lethe before being reincarnated and so they forgot everything about their mortal life. The mystery religions taught their initiates to drink from Mnemosyne instead and then they would retain all that they had learned in their previous life and eventually would achieve omniscience."

"So your theory is that Mnemosyne Water could quell Fiendfyre and counteract the use of Lethe Water at the same."

"Yes, sir," she replied. "I believe so."

"And the obvious obstacle?"

"We have to find a way to Summon water from the river Mnemosyne."

"Indeed."

"I know that might be a rather big impediment and it might not work out in the end . . ." she suddenly felt deflated. She had been so excited when she found this tidbit in her homemade book. Now it seemed . . . almost juvenile.

"On the contrary, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said quietly. "It may be the one thing that saves the lives of Minerva and Kingsley. Very well done."

She felt her cheeks pink. This was genuine praise. From Professor Snape! She hazarded a glance at her mentor and found that he was looking very intently at her. The memory of the events of last night came flooding back and her cheeks went from pink to a hot red. Suddenly the waffle on her plate became extremely interesting.

"I suppose we'll have to start working on that next," she said, still exhilarated at his approval of her research.

* * *

"It seems to be somewhat worse this week, Severus," Minister Shacklebolt reported. Snape examined the wound carefully and his observations synched with Kingsley's complaint. The blackened area on his shoulder had pushed slightly past the boundary it had maintained last week. This was not good news. He hoped fervently that Miss Granger's discovery would pan out, but he was not inclined to reveal the possible cure to Shacklebolt at the present moment. He would have to risk using the potion with the extra Lethe Water this time, hoping to drive the edges of the wound back.

Snape poured the luminescent golden potion into the goblet on the desk and handed it to Shacklebolt. The Minister downed it, making a face in the process. Then he looked at Snape intently.

"We have other business today, Severus," Shacklebolt began. "There was a Muggle murder yesterday. It was Hermione Granger's former landlady. Looks like you got her out of there just in time. It was evident that Death Eaters were involved. What have you heard from that end?"

"I know nothing else about the incident," Snape said, taking a seat in front of Shacklebolt's desk and crossing his legs. The look on the Minister's face suggested he might want to beg to differ. "Many of them don't trust me, for good reason," he added and could see a tiny ember of the same mistrust flash for an instant in Shacklebolt's eye, but then the Minister nodded. With the extra Lethe Water in Shacklebolt's weekly potion, Snape wasn't going to trust the Minister's memory or discretion and, again, decided to minimize the information he would past on.

"Conversely, I have concerns about Potter and Weasley," Snape said. "Potter isn't going to just sit back and follow your injunctions if he suspects I'm conspiring with Death Eaters. He will get himself into trouble."

"I'm sure he would back off if we told him what was going on."

"That has never been my experience. In fact, I don't think he would believe you. In Potter's case, and where I'm concerned, it would simply spur him into unrestrained attempts to prove otherwise."

"I'll alert the Aurors watching him."

"That will make my job easier, not having to worry about Potter messing about in my operation," Snape said and then remembered about meeting with Pye later tonight. "And speaking of operations, I would like access to the Department of Mysteries tonight. Augustus Pye, the Healer at St. Mungo's and I need to look at some of the writings in Dumbledore's old research room."

"I'll have two badges ready for you at the Muggle entrance."

"Thank you, Minister," Snape replied and stood to go. He was starting to feel the energy drain from him and needed to get back to the shop. And to Miss Granger.

* * *

Ministry badges in place, Snape, with Healer Pye in tow, made his way to the Department of Mysteries. In the room with many doors Snape fished in his pocket for the key that Dumbledore had left him and then placed it in his palm. The key spun around until it pointed to the door to which it belonged and then it leapt from his hand and flew into the lock, turning with a firm click.

They entered the room to find it completely unremarkable. Four blank stone walls with a large table in the center. On the table a single leather bound book rested in a circle of magical light that shined down from the ceiling. As they approached, two chairs appeared side by side.

"Well, I was expecting a little bit . . . more," said Healer Pye.

"As was I."

They took the seats conjured and Snape pulled the book toward them, but then hesitated to open it. He was way out of his depth here. He had loved Lily from the first day that he had found out she was a witch. His entire life had been a monument to her; to recompense for his contribution to her murder, to morn her loss and to avenge her death. After surviving Voldemort's defeat, much to his chagrin, there was an unexplainable emptiness that left somewhat of a hole in his being. He had tried to fill it with the apothecary, with his research to help Minerva and Kingsley and by infiltrating the remnant of the Death Eaters. It wasn't enough.

What did he really know of love? He had loved Lily with everything he had, but that love had never been returned. And no one had ever loved him. He wouldn't even know how to respond to anyone who did. He suspected that his inexperience would be a liability in any relationship he might have.

_When did I start thinking about having a relationship?_

Well, last night - when Miss Granger was so delightfully engaging him in bed - could have easily sidetracked his thoughts along those lines. The physical part of a relationship would certainly have its benefits, but what about the rest? The two of them were getting along quite well running the apothecary, but the contract between them essentially gave him complete control over her. He had never been in a real relationship, but he didn't think that was how it was supposed to work. He had no doubt that things would have to change if they became romantically involved. Romantically involved? He was letting Minerva's advice go to his head.

As he sat staring at Dumbledore's lone book and contemplating the overwhelming thought of interacting with a woman in a relationship, and how complicated that could be, Healer Pye was starting to show signs of impatience.

"I'm itching to see what's inside, Severus. If there is any chance it contains information to unravel the mysterious effect that Hermione Granger has on you, we might be able to formulate a cure."

Snape ran his hand down the old leather cover and fingered the corner. Flipping it open, the frontispiece was starkly plain, with only one sentence, centered, in Dumbledore's elegant hand.

_Love is the most powerful magic_

He turned the page. It was blank, as was the next one and the one after. Snape picked up the book and thumbed through the remaining leaves of parchment. If the starkness of the room was disappointing, this single injunction was completely disheartening.

"Well, that was rather anti-climatic," Snape remarked blandly.

"I would have to agree with you on this count," replied Pye.

Snape pulled out his wand and touched it to one page.

"Reveal your secrets," he cast the charm. Nothing. "Severus Snape, inheritor of Albus Dumbledore's estate, commands you to yield the information you conceal." Again, nothing. Snape suspected that there was a way to unlock the secrets of the book, but it could be a long time before he would be able to crack this nut and they didn't have time tonight. He could feel his strength starting to wane. He leaned back in his chair and looked over at a disappointed Pye. "Any ideas?"

The Healer shook his head.

"None," he sighed. "Well, at least I can run a few diagnostics on you and gather further data. After comparing the numbers from last week with previous readings I have developed a hypothesis that I would like to verify."

Snape nodded and scraped his chair around to face the Healer. Pye cast his spell and Snape could see the blue glow from the numbers floating above him reflected on the man's face, brows drawn together in concern.

"When you are away from Miss Granger your condition seems to deteriorate faster," Pye launched into his explanation. "Previous to her becoming your apprentice, I gave you about a year before you would succumb to the effects of Nagini's poison. If I simply went by the data I've collected since she came into your life, I'd give you four months. Here."

Healer Pye cast a charm and a gleaming graph floating in front of them.

"The line in blue plots your life indicators over time," said Pye, now using his wand as a pointer. "If we extend that line you can see it would intersect the x-axis here, giving you about a year to live. But at this point, where the line turns red, is when Miss Granger moved into your apothecary. You can see the data dipping dramatically and crossing the x-axis in only 4 months. But I only have readings from when you are not in her presence. I would like to examine you at your shop in the next few days and get some numbers when you are actually in proximity to her. Would that be possible?"

Snape thought about the questions Miss Granger would no doubt pepper him with if Healer Pye showed up wanting to run diagnostics on him. Of course, they could use the potions lab and make the excuse that Pye wanted a consultation on a particularly difficult case, which would actually be the truth. With an alibi in place, he made up his mind.

"Most every evening is available after seven. When would you like to stop by?"

"I promised my wife I'd try to make it home early tonight and it's already nearly ten o'clock. Tomorrow I have a staff meeting at St. Mungo's that might go long. Would Wednesday work for you?"

"Certainly," Snape nodded and, with difficulty, stood. He sensed Pye's gaze upon him and grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself just as he felt the Healer take hold of his elbow. When he aimed a questioning brow down at the shorter man, Pye shrugged.

"Just in case," he answered. Snape felt a clammy nausea flow down from his head and through his extremities and nodded, accepting the Healer's help. Eyeing the disappointing book forlornly laying on the table, he sighed. Might as well take it with him and see if he, or Miss Granger, could make any headway in persuading it to divulge its secrets. He pulled it toward him and thought he had it in hand, but it was back in the center of the table. Of course. Enchanted. Half-heartedly he tried a few more times with the same result.

"You'll have to bring Miss Granger next time," Pye said and he kept his hand under Snape's elbow as they left the room.

As they made their way down the hall to the elevator and thence to the Ministry atrium, Snape felt his energy drain from his body and was grateful for Pye's assistance. If he could just make it to one of the many fireplaces that lined the walls and get back to the shop, he would be fine. Pye apparently understood this as well and as soon as the elevator open steered him to the nearest hearth and tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the ever-burning flames.

"Home," Snape said clearly as the fire roared into a rich, green blaze. He nodded at Pye, who released his arm, and then he stepped into the emerald-colored conflagration.

Spinning out of the hearth into his kitchen, he nearly pitched over, but managed to stumble to the opposite wall and used it to support himself. He stood there a few moments waiting for his strength to return, but his breathing became labored. He would recover more rapidly if he were closer to Miss Granger. Making his way across the kitchen, and using every wall, table and chair within reach to support himself between the fireplace and the hallway, he headed toward the library, the most likely place he would find her at this hour.

But she wasn't there. He was not recuperating as quickly as usual. Was she gone? Had she left to run an errand? Or was she somewhere else on the premises? Perhaps she had gone to bed early? He made his way slowly back toward her bedroom and tried to cross the hall to her door unaided. Bad decision. He collided with the jamb and, hand trembling, reached for the doorknob. The darkened hall became darker and he slumped to his knees. The last thing he remembered was hitting the floor.

* * *

Hermione's eyelids fluttered open slightly and then drooped sleepily. Thoughts, misty wisps of pre-consciousness and barely there, drifted through her mind. Winky was certainly doing an excellent job keeping her toasty at night. Her blankets were thick, heavy and comforting and enveloped her in a deliciously sensuous warmth. She wondered what time it was, how long would she be able to luxuriate in this lovely . . .

The blanket _moved_. Hermione's eyes flew open and she was instantly and fully awake. _Bloody hell._ She was in Professor Snape's bed again. Holding her breath, she hoped he wouldn't wake. After a moment he settled and, thankfully, remained sleeping. She had to get out of here.

They were both on their sides, his chest pressed against her back. His arm ran under her neck, crooked in front of her face and his hand gently lay on the side of her head. His other arm snugged about her waist. He shifted again and she tried to stay as limp as she could, thinking resistance might wake him. He moved his knee forward and it caught the back of one of hers, pushing her legs apart. She tried desperately to think of something else, anything else, than what her body was suggesting.

She decided to wait for a few minutes before trying to escape, giving time for his sleep to deepen. At least that's the excuse she was using. The fact was, she was surprisingly comfortable entwined with him as she was.

In her dreams, she always felt comfortable and completely safe with . . . Severus. Real life brought doubts. Although Professor Snape had turned out to be much kinder than she had expected, his behavior with Death Eaters was disturbing. During her time at Hogwarts he had wanted everyone to think he was a traitor. Was that the case this time as well? Or had he manipulated everyone for his own purposes as Harry supposed? Whatever the reason, she needed to get out of here.

Slowly, she tried to lift his hand from her head, moved it away from her and laid it on the pillow. Next, she tried to loose herself from the arm wrapped around her waist. She almost had it moved when he roused again and readjusted it around her waist. She froze, hand on his wrist, hoping he would settle once more.

"Miss Granger?" he mumbled against her head. "How did you get in my bed again?"

"I am wondering the same thing, Professor," she said softly. "I'm not a sleep walker and I can't Apparate without my wand. I have no idea how I got here."

"Mmm."

The sound rumbled in his chest and she could feel it on her back. It seemed he agreed with her.

"Last night I set up anti-Apparation charms in here. You could not have entered even with a wand. I think I have figured out what has been happening. But before we can resolve this issue, it would be best if we were upright. _Lumos_."

He untangled his legs from hers and rolled away. Her back cooled rapidly and she missed his warmth, but threw back the covers and sat up. Thankfully, she was still in the night gown she had put on last night. She slipped out of bed and crossed her arms over her chest, just in case.

Professor Snape wore only a loose pair of Muggle pajama pants. She tried not to notice the muscles rippling under his skin as he got out of bed, walked to his wardrobe and pulled out a set of robes, black.

"Winky!" he called as he swung the robes about his shoulders. _Winky?_ The little elf appeared with a loud crack.

"Yes, Master?" the tiny creature asked eagerly, but she began wringing her hands when she saw the thunderous look on Professor Snape's face.

"Have you been putting Miss Granger into my bed?"

"Y-Yes, Master," Winky answered.

"But why, Winky?" Hermione asked kindly, stepping closer. The elf hung her head.

"Master needs Miss," Winky said. "Master is better when . . ."

"Enough," Professor Snape interrupted. At this, Winky became even more distressed and started quickly glancing about the room. _No doubt to find a way to punish herself_, Hermione thought, becoming concerned for the little elf.

"Humans choose their own nest mates, Winky. You will need to be punished for this error," he said.

"Professor," Hermione was alarmed by this pronouncement, "what she did wasn't that bad."

Professor Snape looked down at his arm and Hermione followed his gaze, only then realizing that she had placed her hand on his forearm. Embarrassed, she snatched it back.

"Honestly, I-I didn't mind at all," she said attempting to plead Winky's case. She looked up at him and found his eyes watching her intently. Then she realized what she had just said and felt her cheeks grow hot. But despite her discomfort, she still wanted to protect the elf. "I didn't," she repeated and looked down at a very distraught Winky.

"Nevertheless, it must be done. Winky, turn around and bend over," Professor Snape commanded.

Hermione was horrified, and opened her mouth to protest, but a narrowed-eyed glare from her mentor quelled her response.

Winky did as she was told. Professor Snape turned his ankle as he swung his leg forward. Rather than an actual kick, he scooped the elf up on his foot and tossed her onto the bed where she tumbled a few times and then sat up.

"You are also confined to your nest until tomorrow morning except to prepare and serve our meals. No other work for you today, is that clear?"

"Yes, Master," the elf said meekly. But then she looked up at Professor Snape with even more adoration than she had previously, if that was possible. Hermione was flummoxed.

"You may go, Winky," he said and the elf nodded and Disapparated.

Hermione just stood there shaking her head.

"You've punished her so now she doesn't have to punish herself," she said.

"I daresay my version is significantly less severe than hers would have been and apparently much more satisfying for her part."

"Apparently," Hermione replied, studying him as he turned back toward his wardrobe. Then she saw him hesitate and look at her, raising an eyebrow.

"If you don't mind, Miss Granger, I would like to get dressed now."

"Oh. Oh, yes," she said and headed out the door for her own room.

* * *

Tuesday passed peaceably but very quickly. After the somewhat embarrassing start to the day, routine took over and the incident was forgotten under the barrage of customers that patronized their establishment. The popularity of the apothecary was growing exponentially. They might need to hire extra help if business kept growing at this rate. Oddly, she felt a slight pang at this thought. _Extra help_, she emphasized, _not another apprentice_.

It was dinnertime almost before she realized it. She quickly laid out the ingredients for making the modified Amortentia in the morning. Professor Snape flipped the sign on the door to 'Closed' and cleared off the counter, putting away the scales and their books. She followed him down the hall to the kitchen where Winky was setting out dinner, a nice curry by the looks of it.

"So how would you suggest that we approach the problem of Summoning Mnemosyne Water?" he quizzed her.

"I've never Summoned Lethe Water, so I would have to start there, learning the spells and techniques to safely transfer the . . . "

Suddenly a bright silvery lynx loped into the kitchen from the hallway and leapt lightly onto the end of their table. Hermione had seen this particular Patronus only one other time: at Bill and Fleur's wedding, when the Ministry of Magic had fallen into Voldemort's hands. When it opened it's mouth to speak, she knew it would be the slow, deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

_"Harry Potter and Ron Weasley are missing."_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve: Traitor

* * *

Hermione jumped to her feet, heart in her mouth, staring at the lynx patronus as it dissipated into wispy filaments of light and then disappeared, no additional information forthcoming.

"Sit down, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said flatly. She glared at him across the table and suspected he hadn't even looked up from his meal. "Sit down," he repeated and this time it was an order.

"Didn't you hear Kingsley's message?" she demanded. She was furious at his nonchalance. Up until know she had obeyed every directive he had given her since she had become his apprentice. What would happen if she disobeyed him now? Was there something in that infernal contract that would force her to obey him? She certainly felt like testing that theory right now.

"I am not going to repeat myself," he said coldly, loaded a spoon with curry and rice and continued with his dinner. Sudden realization sent an icy shock flowing through her body. Now she sat down because of her shaking legs rather than due to his command.

"You know where they are, don't you? You knew this was going to happen."

"I suspected as much or something similar," he said. "I tried to prevent it, but apparently you were cunning enough to be able to circumvent the clause in the contract that should have ensured your silence. Somehow you told Potter about my meetings with Death Eaters, didn't you?"

Hermione's fury was snuffed out like a tiny candle flame in a gale. Was this her fault?

"Didn't you? Miss Granger?"

"Yes, sir," she finally answered. She looked down at her plate. Where she had been ravenous a moment ago, now her stomach soured and the thought of eating anything at all could not be entertained.

"How?"

"You mentioned that the contract would not let me relate _one word_ that I had overheard or about what I saw and that proved to be the case. So I didn't use words. Are you familiar with the Muggle game of Charades, Professor?"

"Ah. Clever girl."

Although she treasured praise from Professor Snape, this time it felt like an insult.

"Do you know where Ron and Harry are?" She asked him, unsure of what it would mean if he did.

"I know the person who wanted them. I suspect his plan has succeeded."

"What are we going to do?"

"Wait for information," he said. He unbuttoned his sleeve and pulled it back off his forearm. The evil Dark Mark branded there was black and roiling on his pale skin. He touched a finger to it and it writhed under the pressure.

Hermione was taken aback. She thought that all the Dark Marks had deactivated when Voldemort died. Why was this one working? Why was the one on Professor Snape's arm working and which Death Eater had he just communicated with? Her stomach began to roil as her confusion mounted. Was Harry right? Was Professor Snape reforming a cadre of Death Eaters outside of the country? It was so hard to reconcile the way he treated her and Winky with believing that he wanted to be the next Dark Lord. She so desperately wanted him to be a good man. But why? Why did she so _need_ him to be good? Would this desire interfere with correctly interpreting the facts before her? Would it cause her to make a mistake?

"In the meantime, I . . ." he said, ". . . am going to finish my dinner. Perhaps by that time we will have a bit more information."

"From Kingsley?" she asked, hoping against hope.

"Not at all. Kingsley is not at the Ministry or he would have contacted me using the Floo Network. He must be out and about, probably looking for the two miscreants you call friends.

"Eat up, Miss Granger. We might have a long night ahead of us."

"I'm not hungry anymore," she said, nervously pushing the food around her plate.

"Suit yourself," he said and placidly continued eating.

In her dreams she had unquestioning faith in Severus Snape. There, he had always protected her, his presence a comfort and a security. But in real life, his behavior left her with questions; questions she couldn't find answers for. Why did she want the Severus Snape of her dreams to merge with the Professor Snape of her reality? Quietly the thought born in her heart stole into her mind and she was astounded. She had feelings for this man! Staring at him across the table, her heart thumping roughly at the adrenalin rush this thought had provoked, she wondered why he couldn't hear the pounding so prevalent in her own ears. _This can't be!_

Another pounding joined the one in her head, muffled, echoing through the greenhouse, reverberating right into the kitchen.

"Time to go," he said and stood immediately. He looked her over and then added, "Best get your cloak. It will be chilly tonight."

Finally! Hermione literally ran to her room and snagged her cloak from the wardrobe. Action would chase away these frightening musings. She followed closely behind as he left the kitchen and strode purposefully to the back of the greenhouse, the soft soil muffling their footfalls. The pounding resumed as they neared the back door and Professor Snape drew his wand. He flicked it once and the sconce on the back wall flared to life; flicking it again, she heard the lock click and the door banged open.

A cloaked figure quickly stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind him. The individual pulled back his hood and Hermione knew who it was even before the shock of blonde hair fell forward.

Thorfinn Rowle.

Hermione hesitated at the sight of the huge man and slowed her pace as Professor Snape continued forward to greet him. She watched as he shook hands with the Death Eater. This must be who he had contacted through his Dark Mark. Even knowing that he had put Rowle under the Imperious curse, her suspicions ignited. Why shake hands with someone you could control completely?

"Does he have Potter and Weasley?" she heard Professor Snape query.

"He does."

The Death Eater's response relieved her - they had a lead on the status of her friends - and stoked her concerns at the same time: who had them, where were they being held and were they okay? She stepped forward and stood next to Professor Snape.

"And you know where they are right now?"

"You are not wanted there, Snape."

"On the contrary, Rowle," drawled Professor Snape. "I think he will be very interested in my proposition. And you _will_ take us to him."

At this obvious command Rowle stiffened and his eyes glazed slightly. He nodded automatically, turned, opened the door and stepped into the alleyway. Professor Snape glanced down at her and held his hand out, indicating the exit.

"After you, Miss Granger," he said. His face was completely blank and she tried desperately to read it, searching his black eyes for some indication of his intent. He was asking her to follow a Death Eater to where at least one other Death Eater was holding Harry and Ron against their will. Whose side was he actually on? The answer wasn't found in his face. She had to decide now if he was trustworthy or if she should turn and run. Or try to. Yes, if she went with him, she might find her friends, but she wouldn't be able to help if she was a prisoner as well. Better to maintain her ability to do something, to alert Kingsley and the Aurors. She thought back to last night and how Professor Snape had handled the situation with Winky. He had treated the little elf with such understanding. Hermione believed that a good person could pretend to be evil, but could an evil person pretend to be good? She didn't think that was possible - they wouldn't know how. Her decision was made quickly. She headed out the door.

The alleyway was flooded with blue light from the nearly full moon above. As they approached Rowle, he held out an elbow for each. Hermione took one arm, Professor Snape the other. A moment later the breath was squeezed out of her as they Disapparated from the alley.

They Apparated to a small clearing surrounded by thick forest. The moonlight was bright in the center of the glade, casting shadows under the trees and making Hermione's nerves jitter; the flora could hide a multitude of enemies. She discreetly pulled her wand from her pocket, just in case.

Rowle headed for one edge of the forest and Professor Snape waited until she followed the Death Eater and then fell in behind her. The wall of trees seemed unrelenting but Rowle lead them to a trace of a trail and they threaded their way amongst the underbrush, ducking under lowered branches. It was a short walk. The forest opened up again to a small meadow and Hermione could see that they were heading to a modest cabin snugged up against the tree line opposite from where they had come out of the woods.

"Hold up," Professor Snape commanded and Rowle halted obediently. Professor Snape stepped forward and surveyed the meadow and cabin. "What will we find inside?" he asked.

"Five of us have been staying there. One will be guarding the door. The others will be with the prisoners - the last room at the end of the hall."

Professor Snape then turned and pointed his wand at her. Hermione's throat tightened in sudden panic, but he simply cast a Disillusionment spell. As the icy cold of the charm flowed through her and her body disappeared, she saw that he cast the same enchantment on himself. "Continue Rowle," he said and the Death Eater struck out toward the cabin.

Hermione felt uncomfortable, exposed, as they crossed the open area, even knowing she couldn't be seen. The illumination from the moon left their shadows in pools about their invisible feet and she found it very interesting that light would prove their position. She wondered if magically produced light could provide the same information and made a mental note to test that hypothesis at some future date.

With her stomach cramping every step closer to the cabin, she again questioned if she was doing the right thing. Almost like a mantra she kept repeating to herself that Professor Snape was trustworthy; that she had made the right decision; that her faith in him would be rewarded. Her grip kept tightening up on her wand until she finally decided to return it to her pocket in an attempt to relax.

Rowle stepped onto the fringing porch and pounded on the door. Warmth flowed over her body as Professor Snape cancelled his Disillusionment spell and by the time someone answered Rowle's knock, they were both visible again. She wasn't sure that was such a good idea.

"Password," a voice behind the door demanded and a small sconce to the side of the jamb lit up.

"Vengeance," Rowle growled. Hermione already didn't like the tone this encounter was taking.

She tentatively followed Professor Snape onto the porch.

When the guard saw who was behind Rowle, his wand snapped up and a jet of red light poured forth. But Professor Snape was ready and faster. His expanding Shield charm deflected the curse headed their way and threw the guard backwards. He pushed past Rowle and a few strides later loomed over the Death Eater flat on his back on the floor.

"Really, Rowland, how many times have you tried that on me with the exact same result?" He offered his hand to the man sprawled on the floor. With a scowl Rowland took it and Professor Snape pulled him upright.

"Damn it, Snape! You're a traitor and you are not welcome here."

"A traitor? Surely you've heard of the assistance I've been rendering to our brethren? What has your new 'Dark Lord' done for you? Besides, of course, kidnaping Harry Potter and potentially bringing the entire Ministry down on your necks?"

"Isn't that _your_ job? Where are they, Snape? Hiding in the trees, waiting for your signal?"

Rowland was right. That should have been Professor Snape's job, but he had not answered Kingsley's Patronus message; he had not contacted anyone else besides Rowle, as far as she could tell. Why hadn't she remembered that tidbit before stepping into the alleyway with him? She felt like kicking herself. Deep breath. Remember how he treated Winky.

Rowland rounded on Thorfinn Rowle. "And what the hell did you bring him here for? Are you out of your mind? Crabbe will be furious!"

_Crabbe? Vincent_ Crabbe? Oh, no.

"Speaking of Crabbe, I want to see him - now. I have a proposition to make." Professor Snape said flatly. He grabbed her arm, pulled her in front of him and shoved her forward toward the hall. She would have stumbled and fell except that he maintained his grip. Once she regained her balance, she glared up at him. He ignored her and nodded at Rowle.

"You can't go back there, Snape. Get out of . . ."

Hermione heard the sizzle of a curse being cast and then a thump. Apparently Rowland was on the floor again. Professor Snape gauged his step, letting Rowle catch up and pass them, entering the hallway in the lead.

An agonizing scream echoed down the hall. Hermione knew it was Harry and she attempted to pull away from Professor Snape, wanting to reach her friend, but his grip on her arm was made of iron. She angrily glowered up at him but what she saw left her cold and bereft. His black eyes were a fright - icy, dead, emotionless. He pursed his lips and shoved her into the room at the end of the hall, just behind Rowle.

It was a horrific scene. Ron and Harry were tied up on the floor, hands behind their backs. Crabbe was standing over Harry and, from the scream Hermione had heard, she knew Harry had been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse. But magic wasn't the only method Crabbe had used to torture her friends. Both of their faces were bloodied and it was apparent fists and feet had been used to put them in that condition. Two other men stood beyond Crabbe, undoubtedly assisting in this gruesome task. Ron was unconscious, one of his legs twisted back at an unnatural angle. It was all she could do to not retch at the sight.

"Snape!" Crabbe shouted and raised his wand. Professor Snape cast a Shield charm, but it was not needed. The Death Eater's attention had been averted. His eyes were fixed upon her.

"Calm yourself, Crabbe. I'm here to negotiate," Professor Snape said quietly and he finally let go of her arm. She tried to rub the feeling back into it.

"Representing the Ministry now, are we?" Crabbe snarled. "Your Aurors ready to storm the place?"

Hermione knew there would be no Aurors to save them. If Professor Snape was on her side, they had a chance. If not, all was lost.

"Nonsense. As I have unceasingly tried to reassure any Death Eater who would listen, I had an opportunity to align myself with the other side and I took it. I took it in order to protect those of our brethren left after our Lord's defeat and I took it to give us time."

"Time for what?"

"Time to regroup, to rally the rest of our brethren so that we could complete our Lord's mission," Professor Snape said flatly. "And time to revenge his death." He looked down at her friends, his eyes glinting with malevolence. "I want Harry Potter," he murmured, seemingly entranced by the effect of the violence visited upon the two young men.

"I have a death of my own to avenge, Snape. These three are responsible for the death of my son. They killed him. On the night the Dark Lord fell, they murdered my boy."

"Then we can both get what we want, Crabbe. Harry Potter had nothing to do with Vincent's death," Professor Snape said softly. "This Mudblood confessed to me, thinking me to be on her side; thinking me to be her friend. She's the one that conjured the Fiendfyre that incinerated your son alive."

_That is a lie!_ she wanted to shout, but he must have hexed her speechless; no words would come. Hermione's hand dove for her pocket, desperate for her wand. And it wasn't there. Professor Snape laughed.

"You didn't really think I'd let you enter this room with a wand, did you, Mudblood?"

His hand snaked out and grabbed her hair, since working at the apothecary - done up in a bun at the back of her head, and roughly jerked upward. Gasping, and trying to alleviate the pain, her hands flew up to his, latched on and pulled downward attempting to assuage the tension. She was almost on tiptoe.

"I propose a trade: Harry Potter for your son's murderer," Professor Snape said nastily and pointed his wand at Harry, nearly unconscious on the floor. Crabbe looked at the bloodied figure, nearly at his feet. "This one?" he snarled, now stabbing his wand toward Ron. "You can do whatever you like with that blood traitor." As Crabbe's attention diverted toward Ron, Hermione saw the tip of Professor Snape's wand casually flick back toward her. A flash of blue light shimmered over her cloak and it twisted and quivered about her. _What the hell was . . . ?_ He tugged on her hair again and she gasped, her attention back on Crabbe.

"Fair enough," Crabbe finally agreed.

"She's all yours, then," Professor Snape growled and thrust her toward the Death Eater, toward her enemy, toward her death.

She had made a _terrible_ mistake.

* * *

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Author's Note: Bwuhahahaha! Didn't I mention just how much I love a cliffie? Working on the next chapter, honest.

Thanks to those who read, review, fav and follow!


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